Crowns of Silver
by An Cathal Toirmisce
Summary: AU Lucy was sent away from her home in Beruna for her own safety during the war with Telmar. Her mother told her the Professor's house was safe. All evidence proved the contrary. Mostly Edmund/Lucy
1. Following the Rabbit

**Author's Note: I've combined elements from different fairytales and other stories that I enjoy to work with a separate plot. The story should be clear enough, but I feel the need to say that this is very, very AU, and give you a heads up to the rather… colorful pairings in this. We'll see Peter/Susan, Susan/Edmund, Edmund/Lucy, and some random Caspian pairings by the time this is over. If you don't these pairings, even in AU, I'd suggest pressing the back button.**

Part 1

Some stories are fortunate enough to be recorded through pen and paper, and told through word of mouth. Others end up not being told at all, simply left to fester in the brain, waiting to die off with the people that it happened to. Some people think that's a sin. I was very familiar with a girl who told me that any story that happened is worth telling, because somebody will want to hear it. Which is why I'm going to tell you this story, despite many others telling me not to. They say that keeping this part of our history secret will prevent history from repeating itself, but I think back to what she told me. Everything happens for a reason, and someone, someday, will want to hear this.

As your narrator, I must tell you how everything happened, not how I wish it had been, but as it actually happened. It might pain me to do so, but I am determined to give you the real story, not an alleviated version like fairytales have been reduced down to.

This will not be my life story, although I do appear, and I'd like to think myself important, although I may just be deluding myself. Before I even begin, I feel reason to apologize for my own actions and behaviors, as I was young and selfish at the time all of this was happening. However, this isn't about me; it's about my own Little Red Riding Hood, Lucy. I only know her thoughts because she has told me about them in our years together.

It all started when she had gone out that day to get out of the house, as she had been itching to do so all day. It wasn't that she was unwelcome in her own home; it was simply that she didn't like to stay inside all day, no matter how grand the house was, no matter what great fun it was to explore its many corridors. It was simply that Lucy loved the fresh air too much; she loved the smell of pine needles and fresh soil. She quickly tied the strings to her cloak around her neck and got ready to run out into the woods nearby, itching to feel the warmth of the sun on her cheeks and to spend many pleasant hours under the shade of the trees that surrounded her new home, letting her imagination run loose with an old book on her lap.

She felt excited in seeing the beautiful blue sky, hearing birdsong from inside the broad glass window inside her bedchamber. When she first moved to this house she had been scared and sad, but now it was almost hard to remember that Narnia was at war, and that was the reason she was living with the crazy-haired old man whom she called the Professor and his wife. In her mind, she could pretend that she was only there because her mother wanted her to meet these people and become friends with them, and she sometimes did pretend this. She was there not because of war camps setting up on either side of the town she used to call home, but because the Professor and Aunt Polly wanted her to visit. It didn't quite count as denial because; when push came to shove, she was left with the realization that Narnia was at war, and that her mother had sent her away for her own protection. When she left, Lucy was only able to pack one belonging with her.

Lucy always smiled when she felt the warm material of her cloak. Back when she was still living in Beruna, she had been given a pretty cape of sorts; deep scarlet in color, with a shady hood that one could hide their entire face within if one wished it so. It was long for her, and dragged on the ground to the point of possibly being destroyed, and yet, somehow, the beautiful red cape was never damaged.

In remembering when she got the cape in the first place, she found that her heart became a great deal heavier than it was before. Her mother had lovingly draped the bright thing over her shoulders and tied the strings for her, before embracing her tightly and saying, "Now, Lucy, behave for the professor. While you're away, remember not to speak with any strangers that the professor hasn't first introduced to you himself, and remember to be a good girl."

It wouldn't take a genius to know that Lucy was forced to make a lifestyle change when she had moved away. In Beruna, she had lived in an old whitewashed cottage with a roof made from rust-red bricks, and the interior was just as simple. In fact, the most extravagant room was her bedroom, a closet-sized room with a small window and worn-in wallpaper with painted on fauns and dryads dancing about in the spring. Needless to say that it wasn't fancy, but it was beautiful in her eyes, and it was her home. Now, however, she lived in a grand house set on a hillside, bordered with birch and pine forests. Inside, there were so many long corridors and tall hallways; it was a miracle the nine-year-old hadn't already gotten herself lost beyond the point of being found again.

Lucy blinked a wall of tears away that had built up behind her eyes in thinking of her lonely mother she stepped out of the dark wooden doors, and inhaled deeply. The air was crisp, and she could easily see her breath on it, and so she ran, with a book under one arm and her cloak billowing in the wind as she ran against it. She ran until she reached a large tree that she was rather fond of. Knowing that it wasn't a Talking Tree, she settled herself on a rock nearby a few of the raised roots, and settled into her reading.

It wasn't a particularly interesting book, she found as she attempted to lose herself in the story. Having just grabbed the nearest volume on a bookshelf and hurried herself away to the woods, she hadn't so much as looked at the cover of said book, and was quite disappointed to find that it was merely a dramatized story of a hunting trip the first King Frank had some centuries ago. While Lucy was very proud of being Narnian, and enjoyed her history lessons more than her others, the book was awfully dreary and spend around twenty-five pages simply telling the reader that it was a hot day.

Snapping the dusty cover of the old book shut, Lucy began to trace the binding with her finger and hum absentmindedly. She stared all about the forest, looking at the speckled light on the messy forest floor from the canopy of leaves. There was a rustling in a nearby bush, and she peered forward just in time to see a rather small brown rabbit, looking as witless as any other silent animal, timidly approach her. He looked at Lucy, with ears perked, and trudged forward for a moment, perhaps wondering what she was. "Hullo," Lucy said, and the rabbit stared, "I'm Lucy. Do you live around here?"

The rabbit just continued to stare, Lucy wasn't expecting a reaction, almost positive that this was a speechless animal, but she didn't mind. There really wasn't anyone to talk to those days, the Professor was always busy with some affair that she was unsure what it was, Aunt Polly (who wasn't really her aunt, but had asked to be called as such, either way) was also quite busy with the same sort of issue that the Professor was, and didn't have much time to spend talking with Lucy. So, Lucy was quite often left alone.

"Follow me," a high voice squeaked. As it seemed to come from the rabbit, Lucy stared intently at the thing. Talking Beasts were often much bigger than the normal brand of animals, and they weren't as shy in their greetings for the most part, and so, this confused the little Narnian-born girl.

However, when Lucy leaned forward, so as to put her attention toward the Rabbit, as it was, in fact, a Talking Rabbit, and perhaps ask if it was he that was speaking, he immediately hopped away with a bound, but stopped beyond some trees, and the voice started again, "Follow me, I said. I'll be terribly late if you don't follow."

Lucy stood, but then stopped a few feet away from the tree. Aunt Polly had told her not to wander too far from that tree, and make sure she could see the house and grounds whenever she went off alone. Not knowing exactly where the rabbit wanted to take her, Lucy tried to ask, "If you please, where are we going?"

"I'll be late," the rabbit squeaked and bounded on, without so much as another twitch of his nose.

Late for what, Lucy didn't know. Still, she kept on walking, following the rabbit. She didn't have much reason to, she didn't feel quite like she was supposed to, or that it was necessarily something she should do, but she didn't feel like it was something that she shouldn't do, either. In fact, it had a somewhat surreal quality, as if she weren't really following a Rabbit, but it was someone else. Someone in a picture, someone that she didn't even know personally.

As she continued to follow the Rabbit, Lucy began to get tired, not realizing exactly how far the little Animal was taking her, and found her legs cramping up in a rather unpleasant way. Wishing to stop, she looked hopefully to the Rabbit, who continued bounding about, at a pace rather hard for her to keep up with.

Eventually, the Rabbit took Lucy to a large clearing, seemingly in the very middle of the vast forest. Lucy looked about, before realizing that she had gotten farther from the house than she had ever intended, in fact, she couldn't see the slightest bit of the house or grounds.

Of course, she didn't have much time to dwell on this, because in only a moment, the Rabbit moved again. This time, though, it appeared as though he had a distinct target: a rather large hole in the ground. As the Rabbit dove into the hole, Lucy ran toward it and called after it, "Wait! I don't even know what you wanted of me! Mr. Rabbit! Mr. Rabbit?"

Just then, Lucy caught glimpse of something shimmer lamely in the Rabbit's hole. She squinted as a large black fly buzzed around her head. How odd, she thought, whatever that is catches the light just as water does! Kneeling down, she found that it was, in fact, a rounded vial of sorts, with a red liquid filling it to the brim; the color looked deeper than the finest wine, but all the same, light seemed to go right through it, just like water. The vial itself was glass, with a strange sort of pattern engraved into it; it, in fact, looked rather familiar, a seal of some sort. There was an arrow crossed with a sword, and a single rose with its thorny stem intertwining them. Around the side, there was some sort of inscription written in a language that Lucy didn't understand; she would have to ask the Professor about it later. Still, that wasn't nearly the most curious thing.

Wrapped in a frizzled string around the cork, there was a rather small piece of folded parchment paper. On the outside, a crude scrawling read a single letter, "E." Wrinkling her brow, Lucy unfolded it to see, in beautifully crafted letters, written in gold ink so deep; it almost hurt to look at it, two words. The contrast in style of the penmanship was curious enough, but what was written was just as strange. In fact, Lucy at first thought she had read wrongly, and attempted to read it again, but it was still the same. It read: "Drink Me."

"Drink me?" Lucy echoed lightly, confused as to what it meant. She removed the stopper to the vial and caught a scent of the liquid. It wasn't at all a bad smell; in fact, it was rather nice, like fresh snow, or grass in the summer. Still, there was something hidden in the nice scent that caught her by surprise. Something that smelled absolutely horrible, and she began to get lightheaded because of this and put the stopper on it right away.

In a flashing moment, she didn't quite know what happened next, she stood up, and all of a sudden, she was looking at the side of a wooden arrow that had just shot into the tree next to her. She had uttered out a scream before clasping her hand over her mouth, who had triggered the arrow? Slowly looking about, she could find no one there and couldn't help but feel relieved that the archer, whoever he was, had missed his target.

It occurred to her a few seconds later that the archer hadn't really missed his target, when she heard a loud buzzing coming from the tree. Lucy looked down at it, and saw a rather large black fly pinned to the bark of the tree by the arrow. She removed the arrow from the tree and let out a surprised whimper when the insect flew away with limp wings.

Lucy ran away after that, afraid at the idea of one so good with a bow and arrow that they could pin a fly to a tree. Someone could pin a fly to a tree, without killing it.

**A/N: Wow, this is short. Oh, and does anyone have any ideas of who the narrator is? Please review!**


	2. Crows

By the time that Lucy got back to the house, it was well passed sunset. As it happened, the Rabbit really took her extremely far away from the tree, and she barely had a clue as to where she was. She walked through the forest, trying to keep a grasp on how much daylight she had left, but after a while of meandering this way and that whilst muttering to herself absentmindedly, she did find her way back to the house. In the back of her mind, she wondered about what she had seen that day. For her, seeing a fly, formerly pinned to a tree by an arrow simply fly away like that; it scared her.

When she had run away from the invisible archer, she didn't realize that she still held the vial in her hands until she was so far away that she couldn't go back to return it. She hadn't meant to take it; it seemed to be already addressed to someone, someone named E. All she had hoped for was to get a good idea of what the inscription looked like and what the seal was, and then do some research on it with some of the Professor's books. Whoever the contents of this vial was for—this E person, he wouldn't get it. It was a somewhat sobering thought, as she was sure that E, whoever he was, needed whatever was in the vial. Everyone else in the world that found a mysterious liquid in a strange vial in the middle of a wood would most likely suspect some sort of foul play, drugs, or something of the sort, but not Lucy. She was too innocent to suspect anything questionable in it.

You might be wondering how she knew E was a he and not a she, because, after all, there are plenty of good names beginning with E for girls. Actually, she didn't even think about it all that much; it's just a normal thing to assume that people are male unless proven otherwise. Still, if she tried at all to put a face to the letter, I'm sure that she would have guessed that E was a he, and I'm sure that she figured that he was devilishly handsome and charismatic. Possibly. Or, more likely, that's just wishful thinking.

Continuing on walking, Lucy could see a murder of seven crows beginning to fly from the branches above her head. Cawing out as they flew about, it seemed like they were actually speaking, even though they were dumb. "Caa-caw!" they cried, three times, just as crows always do.

When the crows cawed, she felt gooseflesh climb over her arms. Crows didn't scare her, their cries were just so loud as they echoed through the forest and her skull; it reminded her that she was alone. Sometimes, she liked to be alone; she liked the quiet, to an extent. Still, when it's getting to be dark, alone was the last thing she wanted to be. Not to mention, earlier that day, Lucy's lessons had concerned old legends and superstitions, and there was something in them about crows that had momentarily made the thin hairs on her arms stand on end. What was that old superstition again? She couldn't remember it at that moment, not that she particularly wanted to, the last thing she needed was to scare herself.

Lucy continued walking towards the house as it slowly came into view. It's only when one gets closest to their destination that one begins to realize how very, truly tired they have become from whatever it is they have been doing, be it hiking through a forest, or climbing a mountain.

The house was just in front of her, but walking through the cluttered forest made it seem so much longer than it actually was. The branches and debris posed as obstacles between her and her nice, warm bed, something her aching limbs were beginning to tell her that she desperately needed.

She burst through the doors at what seemed to be the perfect timing, just when the sun disappeared beneath the horizon. The sky was at a nearly black purple, with just a tinge of red-orange mixed in the bottom of the gray clouds. A shard of golden moon stood in the sky; a nearly nonexistent crescent letting off a modest amount of light. It seemed to be letting its laziness show, allowing the stars to give the night its lights. For that reason, the lights in the windows of the house stood out bright all on their own.

Untying the strings to her cloak, Lucy placed it over her left arm, and began to think. She decided that, the next day, she would find her way through the forest again and return the vial to where she found it. Of course, this would be after she asked the Professor about it. Ultimately, however, she planned to return it to the Rabbit's hole, and E, whoever he was.

She was so consumed in her own thoughts, that she didn't even realize how loud her steps were on the way to her bedchamber, and was only broken away from them when Aunt Polly appeared at the door of the Professor's study.

Polly Plummer-Kirke usually didn't look her age; very few wrinkles graced her ladylike features, and she even had a few golden hairs mixed in with the silvery-gray ones that had come with age, all kept up in a round bun. That night, however, for some mysterious reason, she looked both exhausted and almost twice her age. "Lucy?" Aunt Polly said, tiredly, "You weren't here for supper."

One thing about adults that I never understood, even now, I still don't quite understand; is that they'll just say something, and expect you to answer the question that was in their heads all along without actually asking anything. Obviously, this didn't bother Lucy nearly as much as it does me, because she just said, "Oh, well, I got lost in the woods and it took me awhile to find my way back again."

"How did that happen?" Aunt Polly asked, suddenly a bit more interested in what the little girl was saying.

Lucy explained what happened, from following the Rabbit, to her running from the archer. She didn't understand why, but halfway through her story, she was grabbed by the arm and ushered into the study. "Digory," Aunt Polly said hurriedly, "you might want to hear this."

The Professor was a tall and thin man, with white hair that looked rather like candy floss sticking up in every general direction. When I first saw him, I thought he looked kind of funny, but I can tell you now, that Digory Kirke is a man to respect. He looked up from whatever very important matter he was busying himself with, "Yes, what is it?"

Aunt Polly put a hand on Lucy's shoulder and pushed her forward, "Lucy was in the back woods today, and she may have stumbled on something," here she paused and looked at her husband, before directing her attention to Lucy again, "Go on Lucy, tell the Professor what happened."

Lucy was a bit uncomfortable talking to the Professor, she hadn't the chance to before, and she had the same sort of butterflies coming up from her stomach that comes with presenting something to a large crowd. "Well," she said, "I was reading in the woods this afternoon…oh, no! I think I might have left the book there. I'm sorry."

"Which book was it?" the Professor said, not yet understanding why his wife took him from his important papers to listen to this.

"The one about King Frank's hunting trip, I _am _sorry for misplacing it, I'll go back tomorrow and get it, I promise."

Finding her rather amusing, the Professor said, "Don't bother, it was a present that I never actually bothered with reading."

Lucy continued: "Alright, then. Well, like I said, I was reading, but then this little Rabbit came out, and told me to follow him, and so I did," and she finished the story. She couldn't help but feel uncomfortable with the stares the adults were giving her; although she had no siblings, and therefore was used to more attention from grownups, she wasn't used to any adult other than her mother paying her much mind; even her mother wouldn't listen as intently as this. Once she finished telling the story, she showed the Professor the little vial. "I was hoping to return it tomorrow," she said, handing it off to the Professor.

The Professor squinted through his spectacles at the little bit of paper, before almost throwing the little vial to the far end of his desk. After a long pause, during which, the Professor and Aunt Polly shared a long look, the Professor finally said, "Lucy, what do you know, precisely, about the war?"

Surprisingly, it was difficult for Lucy to spell out exactly how much she knew about the war. Her understanding was simple, and, for the most part consisted of her knowing that it was Narnians against Telmarines, and that it began when the Telmarines attempted to get Narnia to join them in, what would be called in plain English, world domination. That's where her knowledge, at this point, ended. In her mind, she had the picture of King Caspian the ninth storming into Cair Paravel and demanding the Narnian crown's help to seize Ettinsmoor, the rest of the Wild Lands of the North, and ultimately, the rest of the world, whereupon, King Frank declined. Because of what history books said, Lucy thought it was the Telmarines who threw the first punch, and we, the Narnians, were completely innocent. In other words, she knew nothing.

When she finished telling the Professor what she knew, he got a rather astonished look on his face, and said, "What do they teach in schools these days?"

"I don't understand." Lucy said, lifting her brows, "what does this have to do with the vial, or anything that happened today, really?" Was it possible that what happened that day was related to the war? If it was, Lucy desperately wished to know. Anything about the history of Narnia, which tends to always lead, in the end, to Aslan, she was interested in.

"Lucy, sometimes people try to interfere with things that should be left well enough alone," Aunt Polly said, "the war, and what's in that vial are perfect examples of that."

"But," Lucy said, wrinkling her brow, "what's in that vial? What's so bad about it?"

"We think, Polly and I, that it was something that was, at first, very good," the Professor fixed some tobacco into his pipe before lighting it, "but then someone made the idiotic move of trying to alter it; make it stronger, for their own uses. "

By now, most people would consider this confirmation for their first suspicions of foul play. Everyone would be thinking that, of course, it's drugs or poison. Not Lucy, her mind was spinning, but all she was wondering was what it was, or what it was supposed to do, and if it as at all connected to the war.

"But, well, what is it? And what is it supposed to do? How is it bad?" She was so curious that she didn't even notice that she was sending out so many questions in one breath.

After giving her a strange look, Aunt Polly said the two things that children despise more than anything in the world; "We'll tell you when you're older. Now, go to bed, it's late."

While Lucy was climbing the winding stair up to her bedroom, she felt many different emotions; all of which could be summed up with annoyance and confusion. She had wanted to get the little vial back in her possession, so as to return it to E, but the Professor and Aunt Polly wouldn't let her.

It somewhat offended her that they thought she was so young that she was entirely blind to what was really going on, when they wouldn't even shed a little light on the subject. She wanted to know, although they probably had their reasons for keeping it from her, and she wanted to respect the Professor and Aunt Polly, no matter how vague they were being at her expense. Possibly, they were trying to protect her, and, perhaps, Lucy needed protecting to some extent, but she was nine, for Aslan's sake. Her naiveté wasn't nearly so impressive that she couldn't learn more about what was going on in her beloved country.

As she climbed into her bed, and settled underneath the covers, she heard the distinctive noise of a wolf's howl and shivered. The howls multiplied and became louder, it sounded as though many wolves were out hunting that night. She put her pillow over her head, as to muffle out the noises, while she tried to lull herself to sleep. She didn't like to admit it, but wolves made her nervous. Something about their yellow eyes and mournful bays sent Lucy's stomach into her throat.

She tossed and turned on the soft mattress for a long time, trying to muffle out the wolves' howls. When night fell, and she had nothing left to distract her, Lucy found herself missing her mother and their little cottage in Beruna even more.

Sometimes, Lucy wished that she were able to take more than just the cloak with her when she moved away. If she had the choice, she would have at least taken her nightgown and quilt, for keepsakes to remind her of her old life, perhaps then it wouldn't be so hard for her to get to sleep.

It was almost as if her mother wanted her to forget about Beruna, and her old life, by not letting her pack anything at all. Lucy could not, and would not, forget about anything. She would always remember the Spring Festival held in the red streets of the town every year, and the picnics she and her mother would have at the beginning of every week, and she'd even remember when things were less than ideal.

She would always remember when she got to see racism hurt someone very close to her. One of her closest friends was a Telmarine-Narnian by the name of Gwendolen; a pretty little girl with dark curls and sparkly brown eyes. The two girls were nearly inseparable for the longest time. Lucy always noticed that Gwendolen and her parents were darker completed, and indeed, they spoke with a slight accent, but it didn't matter for the longest time. Gwendolen's family called themselves Narnians, and so, when the children began to exclude the girl from their games, when the owners of the local shops stopped allowing her family to shop for groceries there, when people began throwing rocks through Gwendolen's windows, Lucy didn't understand it. She spent many afternoons sitting in her room consoling her friend while she cried on her shoulder; afraid for reasons Lucy couldn't even begin to comprehend. In fact, Lucy still didn't understand, even when soldiers began to come around to keep a close watch on and interrogate Gwendolen's family. All she knew was that she didn't like it.

Sooner or later, Lucy finally found her eyelids getting heavier and heavier. She let her cheeks sink into the downy pillow as she fell into sleep.

That night, she dreamt she was running through the forest in the middle of the night. The moon was high in the sky; she could see it glow through the canopy and send the least amount of light onto the ground. Nine crows cawed and flew overhead, singing their song; "one Crow for sorrow, two Crows for mirth; three for a wedding, four for a birth. Five Crows for silver, and six for gold; seven for a secret, not to be told. Eight Crows for heaven, nine for hell; and ten for the end of all you can tell."

Lucy ran away, as quickly as she could, and yet, it didn't seem like she as running at all. She saw wolves, moving like smoke with glowing yellow eyes come out from the shadows, as they began to chase her, growling and foaming. She ran, through the trees, stumbling on lifted roots and rocks.

She fell into a gorge, falling onto dirt and branches. Wolves continued to circle in around her, appearing out of nowhere, snarling and bearing their teeth. When she stood, the wolves got distracted by something behind her, let out a whimper, and disappeared in a puff of smoke.

Lucy slowly turned around to see what scared the wolves so. Her hood fell off, and her cape began flying in a strange wind that she could not feel, her hair flying in the opposite direction. In a silhouette, only brought out by shadows, and the light of the silvery moon, was a girl, perhaps four years older than Lucy herself, holding a bow, with the arrow pointed directly at her. The girl let go of the string, and the arrow flew, swiftly and silently towards Lucy, but going directly past her. In fact, the arrow flew right into a clear vial, suspended in air, shattering it into a million pieces.

When Lucy woke up in the morning, she found that she couldn't remember this nightmare at all, at least for another four years.

**A/N: Well, that's it. Gee, these things are short. Please review, and, in case I don't get around to updating before the twenty-fifth, happy Christmas!**


	3. When She Met the Telmarine

Shadows danced on the wall as the candle flickered, nearly fizzling to nothing. Lucy shivered in her bed, and tucked her knees to her chest under the blanket. It was so cold in her lonely bedroom, not even the bedclothes were warm, no matter how she tried to cocoon herself into them. She desperately felt like she should get some hot chocolate from the kitchen down the winding stair, but she didn't make the effort to, for fear of finding herself lost in the enormous house.

Even though she had already lived in the house for several months, long enough that she should be able to navigate around the house at night, but she still couldn't. Shadows made the halls seem longer, and more alien to her eyes. Once or twice she had considered taking a long taper candle and exploring the dark corridors at night, but she never actually did so.

Now, why hadn't she gone exploring at night? She wasn't tired, and it seemed like the perfect time to do it. Or, at least go down the stairs to get a cup of hot chocolate. Then again, she reminded herself that it was very possible to get lost in a place as big as the house was. "Well, I'm not going to get to know the place any better if I just sit here," she whispered to herself, "besides, if I get lost, I'm bound to run into someone in the morning."

Slowly, Lucy slinked out of the bed, and was greeted immediately by the sensation of ice-cold wood on the soles of her feet. Lucy shivered and thought how unseasonably cold it was that autumn night.

Groping through a pile of semi-clean laundry, she struggled in the dim candlelight to find her slippers. They were new, but soft and fine quality, just like most of the things she was given to wear recently. Unfortunately, the slippers weren't exactly the warmest on her cold feet.

It took her awhile to light the flame of her candle, and a while after that to find a decent candlestick, as the one at her bedside was made of a very heavy material, like copper, only much heavier.

As she quietly opened the door to the hallway, she decided to first off, go to the kitchen to maker herself the hot chocolate that she had been thinking of for awhile. She hoped that she wouldn't wake the Professor and Aunt Polly, although she doubted that she'd get in trouble if she did.

One of the things about living with the Professor and Aunt Poly was that her rules were very few, and the ones she had were simple, and for the most part, more guidelines than actual rules. For example, she was asked not to stray too far from the tree, and yet, when she did, she didn't get in trouble. Although she tired to be obedient and well behaved, she couldn't help but take advantage of her new surroundings.

It wasn't easy to find the kitchen at night. The flame of her candle was barely existent, sending only a piteous amount of light down on the narrow hallways. The dim light played tricks on her young eyes. Halls looked longer, more sinister, as if someone could be hiding behind any little trinket kept in the house. When I say trinket, I mean one of the 'historical artifacts' the Professor collected.

She never did find her way to the kitchen; instead she wandered from room to room, treading softly on the balls of her feet. Eventually, she found her way to a large room, completely empty, except for a very large wardrobe, it took all the way from floor to ceiling. Rather liking the look of the carved doors, she opened them and was immediately greeted with the smell of fur. Carefully, she put her candle on the floor, and stepped into the wardrobe, leaving the doors wide open. She rubbed her cheeks along the sleeve of a coat, deeply inhaling the scent.

If you ask me, fur smells musty, and I'd rather not talk about mothballs, but, this isn't me we're talking about; this is Lucy, and, as it happens, Lucy loved the smell of fur.

She remembered that her mother once told her that when she was older, she would make Lucy a new cloak, one with a fur-trimmed hood. In her old house, there was a little scrap of an old fur coat that her mother kept on the back of a rocking chair, and she used to sit on her knees in the chair and feel the worn-in fur with her fingers. It always was there, as far as Lucy remembered, but somehow, she knew that it had been a part of her father's old coat.

The scrap of fur was old and worn, lost to all the old charms that it once had had on her father's sleeve, and even then, it had only come from an old, dumb, deer, never had it been so nice as these furs were, all of them long and, though appearing somewhat aged, very well taken care of.

Lucy felt herself sit down on the wood floor of the wardrobe, and began running her hands on the hems of the coats. She thought back to the scrap of fur that she was the most familiar with, and her father.

What's surprising is that Lucy could think of her father without getting angry. Her father wasn't a bad man, though I'm not too fond of him, but that's probably just an in-law thing. Anyway, he would almost always be away, being a woodsman, he was often away in Owlwood, or some other forest finding plots of dead trees to clear away for people to live in. So, Lucy didn't know the man too well, when he was home, he would sit in the big chair that was otherwise empty, as her mother would serve him his teas and food. When Lucy did talk to her father, he was too tired and a bit too gruff for her to be comfortable with. The thing that it was possible for Lucy to be upset about was that her father wasn't there to see her away to the Professor's, in fact; he didn't concern himself with the decision much at all.

In fact, she remembered the day it was decided that she would be sent away. It was a bit passed her bedtime, but the inside walls of the cottage were so thin, she could even hear the clinking of her mother's knitting needles.

"I can see the war camps outside the town," her mother had said, and there was the noise of a grunt coming from her father. "I don't think it's safe for Lucy to stay here."

"What do you want me to do about it?" her father said, not unkindly, but a bit too tired to really be concerned, "I can't take her with me, if that's what you're getting at."

"Oh, no! Heaven's no!" The knitting needles had stopped abruptly, "Do you remember the Kirkes?"

"No."

"My old friends who came to our wedding? Digory and his wife, Polly? Well, anyway, they live almost clear across the country, and I was thinking we could send Lucy to live with them, just until the war's over. It's bound to be safer," Lucy remembered being unmoved by the idea at the time, not knowing how long the war would last, and being quite as tired as her father, it didn't register much at the time.

"If that's what you think is best for her, go ahead and send her away. Now, would you get me another bowl of soup?"

Lucy woke up with a sneeze the next morning, and the first thing she saw was a long wall of wood. She stared at it, not registering much at all, just that she was staring at wood. Evidently, she had fallen asleep in the wardrobe the night before. Some of the coats had been pulled down from their hangers and used as a sort of bed for Lucy in the night.

It doesn't seem like that much of a relaxing thing, but she found herself completely rested from sleeping on the wood floor of a wardrobe, wrapped in coats. She hung them up again, and stepped out into the room again.

"Argh!" She found herself rubbing her eyes to the brightness of the room. Apparently, she hadn't notice the enormous window last night. It was obvious that autumn had fell on her, especially that morning; the sky was gray, but a somewhat bright sort of the plain color, and, of course, this made the green of the pine tress, and the bright yellows of the birch trees stand out like oil paints on a blank canvas.

XXXXXXXXX

Lucy found her mind drifting during lessons that afternoon; however, it was nice to do her lessons outside that day. It wasn't too cold yet, and the air had a nice autumn smell. She finished up her sums, and relaxed in her chair. It was almost teatime, and she was getting a little hungry.

Aunt Polly was a reading a letter from a friend she had who lived at the Narnian capitol, the palace Cair Paravel, and she looked upset.

"Is something wrong, Aunt Polly?" Lucy asked; handing her the sheet of paper she had been doing her work on.

Aunt Polly looked through the sums, before saying, "It's only matters of war, Lucy. It's too far away to concern you. You needn't worry yourself over it."

"What's going on?" Lucy asked, involuntarily playing with the edge of her cloak. Remembering her manners, she added, "If you don't mind my asking."

Aunt Poly paused, as if to think what part to tell Lucy, finally, she said, "Well, there still is no trace of the princes, nor the Lady Susan."

"The princes went missing?" Lucy asked, surprised to no end. There were two princes of Narnia, she knew about them, Prince Peter and Prince Edmund, but who was the Lady Susan? She didn't know, but the most distracting part, was that the princes were missing. Poor King Frank, he must have been so distraught.

The older woman looked equally surprised, "You didn't know? They've been missing for months. Soldiers have come to every town to look for them, I thought you would know that for sure."

Suddenly, Lucy remembered, a few months ago, a group of Narnian soldiers that Lucy had taken a rather strong dislike to had gone through Gwendolen's house, searching for something. Was that it? Did they assume Gwendolen's family had kidnapped the princes of Narnia? "Do you think they're alright?"

Aunt Polly sighed, "I don't know."

"Who's the Lady Susan, then?" Lucy asked, the shock of the prince's absence still in her brain, but she still wondered who the other missing person was.

"The daughter of the governor of the Lone Islands." Aunt Polly said, folding up the letter abruptly, "She's missing, too. She went missing at the same time the princes did." "

"I wonder why," Lucy said thoughtfully, looking out into the deep wood.

"There are rumors that they were kidnapped, and others still that they ran away, no one really knows, and it's best not to make tall tales about it. We should be getting in." After this, Aunt Polly stood and said to herself, "Digory will want to hear about this."

"I think I'd like to stay out here for a little while longer," Lucy said, before Aunt Polly turned around and went into the house.

Lucy couldn't help but wonder why she hadn't heard of the princes being missing before, surely her mother knew, after all, she and Gwendolen's mother would talk often, and with the soldiers going through their things that one time, surely the Telmarine-Narnians knew, as it affected them directly.

Why was it that everyone assumed that Lucy was too young to deal with anything? First with the vial, and then she found out that her mother had been keeping the princes' absences away from her. Then again, maybe her mother simply assumed that it didn't concern her, and so she didn't tell her for that reason. Either way, she felt like people thought she was so young, and even unintelligent, that no one could believe that she could understand what went on, if only people would tell her.

She stood up, and was about to leave, when she got the urge to look at the woods, and pay attention, for some reason. This reason, she didn't even know.

Out of nowhere, she heard the loud brassy tone of, what seemed to be, a type of horn coming from the woods. Lucy cocked an eyebrow, but let her curiosity get the best of her again. Of course, she ripped a little section out of her book of paper, and scrawled a quick message to Aunt Polly; _"I went to the woods. I'll be back for tea. – Lucy" _

As if it could keep her safe, she made sure that her cloak was tied securely around her neck, before stepping through the trees in the general direction she heard the horn coming from.

It didn't take long until she saw who blew the horn. Hanging in a net from a tree, there was a boy, and Lucy knew from the style of his clothes that he was a Telmarine.

What was a boy doing hanging in a tree from a net? What was a net even doing in the forest?

Lucy's first reaction was to crouch behind a tree, as she could see that he had a sword on him. She wanted to slink away, back to the house; after all, he was an armed Telmarine.

She hugged the back of the tree, and was about to turn to leave, but then she remembered Gwendolen.

She remembered the days when her friend would come to her house, crying because of people teasing and taunting, or even throwing things and spitting, when things got really bad. People were so cruel to Gwendolen and her family, just because they were Telmarines. They weren't even full Telmarines; they were citizens of Narnia, weren't they?

Lucy couldn't help but think, if she left this Telmarine alone, hanging from the net in the tree, wouldn't she be doing the same thing so many people did to Gwendolen to this Telmarine solider? He looked alone, and he did look like he needed help. So, she stepped out from behind a tree, "Do you need some help?"

"Of course!" The boy said, in a rushed accent even thicker than Gwendolen's. "Cut me down from here!" He threw his sword down through the holes in the net.

Lucy picked up the weapon, and stumbled a bit; she wasn't expecting it to be so heavy. Once she got used to the weight, she jumped up onto a rather high stump and hoisted herself on a nearby branch, level to the rope holding up the net. She, clumsily, removed the blade from the sheath, and began to shear the rope.

Suddenly, the rope snapped in two, sending the net, and the Telmarine within it, to the ground with a thud. "Argh!" he said, standing up. "That hurt."

"Sorry," Lucy called, jumping down from the tree branch. "Are you alright?"

"Yes, I'm fine." The Telmarine said, and it was now that Lucy was able to notice him. He looked several years older than her, and there was a shine in his eyes that Lucy immediately liked.

Rocking from the balls of her feet to her heels, Lucy asked, "How'd you get in that net anyway?"

"Walked into it. Trappers are smarter than you'd think."

Lucy nodded slowly, and, for lack of anything else to say, said, "My name's Lucy."

"I'm Pr—" he began, but then corrected himself, and, instead said, "I'm Caspian."

Lucy smiled, and, without knowing it, began what would become the greatest journey of her life, and, in my opinion, all of Narnian history.

**A/N: Lame ending, I know. But I really couldn't think of any other way to end this chapter. Sorry.**


	4. Caspian

**A/N: This story officially has a trailer! The link is in my profile if you wish to see it! Special thanks to natthenarnian/NatileLeon10694 for making it! **

"Are you a solider?" Lucy asked Caspian, inwardly hoping that he was not. Pictures she had seen of Telmarine soldiers had portrayed them as more monster than man, what with those ugly masks and reputation for ruthless fighting. Even having just met him, Lucy couldn't even begin to picture Caspian's face behind one of those masks.

"No, not exactly." Caspian absentmindedly dug his heel into the ground, "I've been taught how to handle swords privately, but I'm not in the army, and I haven't seen a real battle yet," this seemed to embarrass him, not that I blame him. At his age and not having seen a real battle during a time of war, it's enough to give anyone of his stature red cheeks. "But I was supposed to join at the end of last month," he added hastily, and it was unsure whether Caspian thought this was a good thing or a bad thing.

"And you didn't? Join the army, I mean." Lucy asked, a strange feeling rising in her chest. It felt like a combination of hope—hope for Caspian not fighting against her home, and fear—the penalty for walking out on an army is always death, no matter the reason.

"No." Whatever tiny smile that might have been momentarily playing on Caspian's lips faded immediately, as he said, "The only problem now is that I don't know where I'm headed to."

"You don't have anywhere to go?" Lucy asked, ticking head to the side.

Looking at her wearily, Caspian said, "I left Telmar in a rush, I didn't have time to plan, so I've been trying to think of a place to stay, but so far, no luck." He paused, and suddenly said, in an excited voice, and he probably was, considering he hadn't anyone to talk to for weeks, "I heard that there was a small group of Narnian militia forming somewhere in the Western Wood, I was hoping to find them and, maybe they'd let me fight with them, if I can appeal to their better nature."

Baffled, Lucy murmured, "You want to fight with the Narnians?"

"Yes," Caspian said, a grim expression on his face, "I know what King Caspian wanted, and it wasn't what this war has turned into."

"What do you mean?" Lucy asked, not knowing exactly what he was getting at, her understanding being so little, "Didn't he only want to take control of the world for himself?"

"No!" Caspian said, suddenly overzealous, "You have no clue what was going through my father's mind when he did what he did!"

Lucy found her jaw open, as she said, "Y-your father? You're Prince Caspian X?" She hadn't quite assumed so before, it was interesting to find someone with the same name as the late Telmarine ruler, but she once knew someone named Frank, and he wasn't at all related to the king, actually, he was a woodcutter that worked with her father. Lucy figured it would be the same basic concept with Caspian. Apparently not.

Caspian must have said something that he didn't want to, because he immediately cringed, muttered something under this breath, and looked a bit frightened. From speaking with him later on, he's told me that he wasn't frightened, simply worried that he would get found out and killed. I don't really buy that. It's not that Caspian's easily frightened, it's just that he frets over those sort of things.

Reading into this look, Lucy said, "You know, I won't tell anyone who you are. Not if you don't want me to."

It was Caspian's turn to be baffled, but all he asked was, "Why?"

"You said you wanted to fight alongside the Narnians. Which means that you're a friend of Narnia, doesn't it?"

"What I really want is to set things to right between Narnia and Telmar, but I guess you could say that." He paused, and quietly addressed Lucy, perhaps simply to shed some light on the subject. "It wasn't all about selfish power back then, you know. Maybe now, but not when Father was alive. All he wanted to do was to bring all the countries together under the control of two major rulers, for the greater good."

Lucy didn't see why doing something like that would be for the greater good, or good at all. Every country was different, sometimes there were good differences, and then there were bad differences. The point is, everything is different, and that's the way it's supposed to be. You know, the natural balance of the universe and whatnot.

Still, she could see that Caspian loved his father, and didn't want to open any old wounds or make him angry. So, instead, she said; "I didn't mean to insult you, or your father. I'm sorry." It was true; she hadn't meant to insult anyone and she was sorry for accidentally doing so.

Caspian nodded and they stood for a few moments, the sun shone through the branches; a few yellowed leaves spiraled to the ground in a graceful sort of ballet. For a few moments, it was quiet enough to hear the slight scraping noise of some sort of furry little animal trudging along the debris of forest floor.

Lucy was the first to speak, "You said that you didn't have any place to stay, didn't you, Caspian?"

"I was going to try to camp in that hollow tree over there," Caspian gestured to the tree Lucy had tried hiding behind, "but I got caught in that net."

Lucy nodded, "You should come home with me," Her suggestion might seem a little forward, but if you saw the state of him, his tired eyes and dirty clothes made one think that he had been wandering the forest without shelter or even food for weeks. Lucy finished her thought in response to an odd look Caspian was giving her, "After all, you haven't anywhere else to go."

"I don't want to get you or your family in any trouble by keeping me." Caspian shuffled his feet this way and that as he spoke.

"Well, now that I've met you I can't just _leave_ you in the forest with nowhere to go. At the very least, come for tea." Lucy now had a hand on Caspian's wrist, very nearly pulling him in the general direction of the house.

Sending another odd look to Lucy, but more or less agreeing to go with her, Caspian said, "Do you think it's a bit strange to be going for tea with someone you just met in the woods?" I'm not certain if he was finding the situation amusing, or if he really thought it was flat out strange, probably a mixture of both, but I don't really know for sure.

So, the two set off for the house, walking side by side, talking all the way. Lucy found that Caspian was easy to talk to, and surprisingly so. His opinions were interesting and broad, opinions of a natural leader who didn't quite realize his potential. He hadn't at all the stereotypical Telmarine personality, stern and hardened from war, but the flowing, river-like personality of a dreamer, somewhat like herself, but still with determination hard enough to cut a hole through iron. His humor wasn't the kind that could turn a dull conversation on its head, but if he wanted to be funny, he could make a gargoyle laugh, and if he didn't, he wasn't a dull companion to have around anyway.

This wasn't even mentioning his accent, which Lucy immediately took a liking to. It was heavier than the one she heard often from Gwendolen, and far more interesting. She liked the rise and fall of the way he talked, the little traits of his speech patterns, and immediately knew that they had become friends.

If Lucy were less innocent, she might have thought that perhaps, something else could happen between them, something more than simply friendly, but at the time, the thought hadn't crossed her mind. Even if it had, which I doubt, she wouldn't have told me, knowing full well that the overall idea of them being more than friends makes me want to vomit.

By the time they reached the house, Lucy had learned that Caspian had run away from Telmar fearing for his life. His aunt had had a baby, and Caspian stood in the way for that baby becoming king when the usurper, Miraz, passed away, as Caspian was the next true heir to the Telmarine throne. To compensate for this, Miraz decided that it was time for Caspian to join the soldiers in the camps set up on the outer edge of the country, where he arranged for his own nephew to be killed in a sort of training 'accident.'

Lucy was left aghast when she was told this. How could someone kill his or her own nephew? It was so horrible; it made her actually thankful for her own father's indifference. "That's just like something out of a nightmare!" she said.

Caspian nodded slightly, "I have my tutor to thank for my life," he explained, stepping over a stump from a tree cut down long ago. "He's smart enough to know that me suddenly getting sent to fight after my aunt had a baby was more than suspicious. So, he did some searching, and figured it out, then he helped me run away."

Noticing a rather somber look on he new friend's face, Lucy gently asked, "Did something happen to him?"

"I don't know. I hope not, and I think he can take care of himself." Here, Caspian lowered his voice and said secretively, as if there were someone there who was eavesdropping, "He's a minor magician. So, he might be able to do something to keep himself safe, but I don't know." He let out a puff of air that might have been thoughtful amusement, "It's funny, I used to spend hours upon hours just thinking about ways that I could escape the castle, get to Narnia. But, now that I'm here, it's not what I thought it would be."

"How so?" Lucy asked, wrinkling her brow.

Caspian shuffled his feet for a moment, probably in thought, before speaking again. "All my life, my tutor and my old nanny, used to tell me the stories of Old Narnia, of the heroes and all the wonderful things that this magical country has hidden inside of it. But, so far, I haven't seen anything that gives me clues that I'm even in the same country, but I blame that on the war. Not many people would be willing to help the prince of Telmar."

"But I did."

"Well, I'm lucky, then. Aren't I?" Here, Caspian sent a smile to Lucy, and she found herself blushing.

In a shorter time than either of the two suspected, they reached the house, and even found themselves standing in the Professor's study. When they first entered, the Professor and Aunt Polly stared awkwardly at Caspian. It was a rather discomforting minute for all involved; no one truly seemed to know what to say.

Lucy's eyes moved all about the large room. Every other time she had been in the study, either the Professor or Aunt Polly had been talking to her the entire time, and so, she wasn't quite able to take in the little details. True, she was able to get the general gist of the wood floors, paneled walls, and dusty bookshelves, but she never had any time to take in the little details, and now, at least, she did.

Looking to the window in the very front of the room, she noticed a poor potted plant whose leaves were turning brittle and dry. Her eyes shifted to the Professor's desk, she supposed it would be shiny, but the top was almost entirely covered in books, parchment, and maps along with bottles of dark ink and several quills. There was a small metal container in the shape of an apple that must have been where the Professor kept his tobacco for his pipe. Right next to this little container, was a piece of wrinkly unfolded paper, which sported in golden lettering; _Drink Me_

Lucy furrowed her brows, and she found her eyes darting at a quicker pace throughout the room. She finally found what she was looking for; atop the mantel, right next to a peculiar-looking jewelry box, there was the glass container filled to the brim with the strange liquid. For a reason unknown to her, Lucy found herself relieved that she knew where it was, even though it had been confiscated from her, and there was no way to return it to E. Somehow, it was simply a relief to know where it was. Perhaps later she could ask the Professor to give it back so she could return it to where she found it.

"I didn't know that there was royalty in these parts," the Professor finally said, making it known that he, somehow, recognized or otherwise knew Caspian's identity.

From his spot beside her, Lucy felt Caspian tense up. It was, admittedly, surprising for her as well. How did the Professor recognize Caspian so quickly? From the look on her face, Aunt Polly knew it, too.

"I invited him here," Lucy said before Caspian had the chance to answer, "I didn't think you would mind."

The Professor and Aunt Polly exchanged looks, "I don't want to be rude," the Professor began, handing one of the many books on the desk to his wife, who was standing at her usual place just behind his chair, and turning his gaze back to Caspian and Lucy, "but seeing as this isn't going anywhere, I should just come out with it. What are you doing here?"

It took a while to explain everything, from Lucy finding Caspian to all that she had learned on their walk together, emphasizing that Caspian had no intention of hurting the Narnians, and in fact wanted to help them. When they were done, they looked quizzically at the two adults in the room, who seemed to be having a silent conversation through various looks.

Eventually, Aunt Polly said, "I'm sure, Prince Caspian, that you're aware of the sort of position my husband and I would be put in if we were found keeping any Telmarine, much less you in our house."

Caspian nodded solemnly, "You all would be tried for treason."

The Professor took on from there, "You can't expect either my wife or myself to put ourselves in the sort of danger that would create, much less Lucy, since she isn't even our daughter, I'm sure you understand." Here the Professor had to put up a hand, as Lucy had already begun to protest, "However, there is something that we can do for you. Across the forest, there's an old cottage. I'm the owner of the place, and no one lives there. If you would like to stay there, both Polly and I would be willing to look the other way if anyone asks about you living there, but that's all we can do."


	5. Shedding Light on the Subject

Because Lucy and Caspian shared a love of the history of Narnia, they spoke mostly of that as they hiked, yet again, through the Western Wood. They were attempting to reach the small cottage that the Professor had offered Caspian to stay in.

There were moments that made them feel like they were walking in circles, but, at least, they had a map to follow, and during the one time that they thought they were lost, they were able to ask directions from a dryad, who put them back on their path.

Somehow, their conversation ended up on the war, primarily, on how it started. "I can tell you," Caspian said, "when my father and King Frank got going, I thought they were going to yell so loudly that the roof of Cair Paravel would break."

"You were there?" Lucy asked, nearly dumbfounded, "You saw everything that happened?"

Nodding, Caspian shrugged, "Yeah, would you like to hear it?"

Lucy shrugged at first, but then nodded and made herself ready to hear the tale from her new friend, as she ducked under a low tree branch.

Typically, when Narnians thought about what it looked like when King Caspian IX entered Cair Paravel the time just before he 'demanded' Narnia's help in conquering the world, they thought of the man with a stern, wicked look on his face, at the head of a V-formation, surrounded by soldiers on either side. The picture had the man with his hand on the hilt of his rough-shaped, dark sword, walking at a rapid pace, heel to toe, in a commanding sort of way.

In reality, the only thing in that picture that was somewhat accurate was the V-formation, and there were, possibly, only two soldiers in the lot, the rest were lords of Telmar, even Prince Caspian X himself and his old tutor, Doctor Cornelius. If the king's walk was commanding, or speedy at all, he was simply commanding and speedy at all times. As for his face, not a stern feature sat on it, in fact, a slight smile played on his features, and not the malicious sort either, but the sort that shows that the person smiling is genuinely excited and happy.

The first time Caspian (X, if you're wondering) entered the throne room at Cair Paravel, he was amazed. He had practically begged his father for permission to come with him on this trip to Narnia, longing to see the things his bedtime stories and daydreams were made of, and was only there under the understanding that he would still have his lessons, and it wouldn't be a vacation.

He looked all about the throne room from the very moment the doors opened. He looked all about the throne room from the very moment the doors opened. Lining the walls, to Caspian's excitement, there were fauns, satyrs, centaurs, dryads, a whole assortment of great Beasts, and even humans. Two of these humans, he guessed were the princes, standing on the wall amongst the lords and ladies of the castle.

From his first glances of the princes, Caspian was able to guess a few things. The taller one, who must have been Prince Peter, had a sort of regal air to him, something that looked like it could either be nobility and the makings of a great king, or arrogance. Either way, Caspian felt a little intimidated by this prince.

Through order of elimination, the shorter boy standing next to Prince Peter must have been Prince Edmund. This boy didn't look at all the way his brother did, in fact, he looked normal, if that isn't an insult, leaning against the wall, and examining his cuticles out of boredom.

Taking his eyes away from the people lining the throne room, Caspian looked around at the room itself, and was very nearly left breathless.

The great glass ceiling was opaque, and yet the sunlight streamed into it, and reflecting off of the ivory floors, creating a very bright look. Through the enormous stain glass window behind the thrones, he could all but hear the crashing of the waves of the shore that the castle overlooked. There were four thrones at the focal point of the room, tall on blocks of marble, but only one was occupied.

To Caspian, this man looked quite a bit more stern than his father, but not nearly as stern as his uncle, Miraz, or many of the other lords of his homeland. King Frank XIV looked a bit older than his father, although they were roughly the same age; he had long graying hair, and an equally gray beard that barely left his chin and upper lip. The Narnian king had long robes made of scarlet velvet and a golden circlet gracing his head; his grace was definitely quite different from any sort that Caspian had ever seen.

King Caspian stepped forward, hands up, "Ah, I see you still disallow your sons from sitting even on the outer thrones. You're finally seeing things through your father's eyes, eh, Frank?"

King Frank looked at the Telmarine with a straight face, "In my throne room, people address me as Your Majesty." In seeing King Caspian's taken aback look, the straight face on King Frank's lips melted away, and he cracked a jolly laugh, "But for old friends, I'll make the exception!"

The two kings stepped closer together and clasped hands, greeting each other as the long time friends that they were.

"Of course," King Caspian had said over supper that first night, "the Telmarine economy is extremely well off at this point, I'd say that breaking the trade with Calormen was most likely the greatest decision I've made during my time as King. You may want to consider a similar action, Frank."

King Frank shook his head; "Narnia is much too small in stature to face off with Calormen if they get angry with us. My little country wouldn't survive a war with a country as enormous and powerful with Calormen. We are at peace with them now, and I thank Aslan for that."

On the opposite end of the table, Prince Edmund let out an odd gasping noise from the back of his throat, like a fish gasping for air. Prince Peter made a jerky movement, Caspian guessed that the prince was elbowing his younger brother under the table, and some Telmarine lords looked down their noises at the Narnian court with a stuffy look.

The supper was otherwise spend in amusement, the two kings catching up with each other with the things that had gone on in their lives since they had seen each other last. Caspian enjoyed the meal, several courses ranging from large plates of meat (from non-Talking animals, of course) to thick and hot soups. The meal was so delicious, Caspian was absolutely full by the time that the custard filled tarts came around towards the end, and yet, he had to try at least one.

For the first three days, Caspian's visit to Narnia was peaceful and enjoyable. Doctor Cornelius appeared more easygoing, and allowed their lessons to drift off more. In fact, there was a different gleam in his tutor's eye that Caspian really hadn't seen before.

Very few times had Caspian got a chance to talk with the Narnian princes, but when he did, he found out that his first guesses on Prince Peter were correct. There was something about the older of the two that was either very noble, or very haughty, but Caspian didn't get to know him enough to determine which one it was. Sometimes, I think that it's both, even though most of the time, Peter's a good leader, but I digress. Sadly for Caspian, speaking with the prince didn't help him get any easier around him, especially after he had a friendly swordfight against him, and lost within a minute.

Still, nothing could dull the fact that Caspian remained very excited to be in the Narnian capitol. Everything was designed differently; it had an older, grander look than the straight-edged designs of the Telmarine castle. Even the way courtiers treated the servants, and even each other was different; there was a friendlier, more cordial way everyone spoke with each other. Almost everything about this little land amazed him.

It was on the fourth day of the Telmarine visit in Cair Paravel that things fell apart. Caspian sat quietly in his own chair as he chewed his supper, as he watched the conversation between the two kings, knowing that there was very little way for it to become better, the only direction it could go was worse. Everyone could see it, Prince Peter and Prince Edmund exchanged worried glances, lords and ladies from both courts chewed on their lips, the smell of perspiration and anxiety was heavy in the air.

It started with a proposition. King Caspian said, "Both our countries are doing reasonably well right now, but, have you ever considered the possibility for them both to grow stronger, together?"

King Frank looked startled, to say the least, "Caspian, I wish you'd speak plain and upfront with me, and just cut to the chase."

"Very well. I have reason to believe that if both the Telmarine and Narnian armies join together, there is very slim chance that we'd lose any battle we ran into."

A vein popped out of King Frank's forehead, "And what use would that be?"

"Only think," King Caspian said, putting down his silverware, "if we joined armies, we could, together, seize Ettinsmoor and the other lands to the north. There would be no way for us to lose. Slowly, but surely, we could gain control of all the nearby lands, and more than that."

King Frank's voice hadn't even been so stern that first day in the throne room. "And what would the point be in that?"

It was at this time that it became apparent that there was going to be a storm at the castle Cair Paravel.

"Come now, between the economic and military aspects of Telmar, and the cultural and magical, if you will, aspects of Narnia, the more countries sharing the virtues of our countries, the better. It's all for the greater good."

"I would never agree to do something so impossibly wrong. Taking others from their cultures, and forcing them to follow yours, it's wrong beyond all I can see. I thought better of you, King Caspian."

Now, King Caspian also had a vein popping out of his head, in light of the rising tension, "I'm asking you to reconsider, think of all the good that could come from it."

"Nothing comes to mind," King Frank said, and our young Caspian thought he looked quite frightening, "Furthermore, I assure you, if you go on with your plans, and you attempt conquering any land to which Narnia has alliance with, I will not stutter in my decision in siding against you."

"That being said," King Caspian said, succeeding in keeping his cool only a little more than King Frank, "be aware, that this may be the decision of your life. Narnia not joining us will all but stop us from accomplishing what it is I set out to do."

"You're setting yourself up for damnation." King Frank said to his former friend, "I'll give you and your men twenty-four hours to get out of Narnia." That was the last thing he ever said to King Caspian.

Two weeks after this confrontation, King Caspian IX was found in his bed, a slash from a knife through his throat.

XXXXXXXXXXXXX

Lucy spent awhile attempting to console Caspian when she heard about how his father died, but he didn't want to hear it, after Caspian finished the tale the tale with telling Lucy how Miraz usurped the Telmarine throne and declared war with Narnia, blaming them for murdering Caspian IX, the two walked in silence until they reached what would become Caspian's new home for a great while.

The cottage stood alone in a grassy clearing surrounded by a ring of pine trees speckled with the occasional white birch trees set apart and beautiful with their yellow leaves. It was a small building, made of stone and brick.

It took almost all afternoon for Lucy and Caspian to walk clear across the Western Wood, of course, they didn't leave immediately from the big house, but first had a cup of tea and packed a few simple things for Caspian to keep with him while he's living in the old cottage, although, according to the Professor, most necessities but food should already be there.

Lucy decided to go with Caspian to the cottage, mostly, to help him take the food and blankets he decided to pack.

Within the house, there were four rooms that were opened up to one another, without so much as an archway, it sort of posed as a kitchen, sleeping area, what looked like a sitting place, and dining area all together as one. The entire thing was spacious; the whole of the kitchen and dining areas were roughly the size of Lucy's whole house in Beruna.

The two made a search through the house to see if the Professor remembered correctly in telling them that most of the things needed would probably already be there. Indeed, there were around three boxes of candles stowed beneath a small sofa near the sleeping area, there were rocks and metal to light a fire beside the fireplace, and even some old pieces of wood that were beginning to rot out. In the kitchen area, they found pots and even a water pump. If there were any place for Caspian to stay, that one would probably be the most comfortable; there was even a tub for bathing stowed in a corner of one of the rooms.

Too soon, dusk fell over them. Because it was too dark for a nine-year-old girl to walk for hours alone, Lucy decided to spend the night there. After a brief argument with Caspian over who would sleep on the sofa and who would sleep in the bed that night, Lucy eventually found herself on the mattress of the bed in the far end of the house.

She lay flat on her back for a while, staring into the blackness of the dark, before she said, "Caspian? How long do you think you're going to stay here?"

Caspian's voice seemed wide-awake as he said; "I'm not sure, just until I decide on what I'm going to do."

A few more minutes of laying in the dark past, before Lucy sat up in the bed, whispering loudly, "Caspian? Are you awake?"

Caspian's response to this was; "What's the matter?"

Lucy mulled over how to say what she wanted to say, "I just wanted to make sure. You'll tell me when you decide what you're going to do, won't you? I don't want to stop by one day, only to discover you've gone."

Caspian seemed to mull over this as well, eventually, he said, "Yes, I'll tell you if I decide to leave."

When morning dawned, Lucy strapped her red cloak around her neck, and made herself ready for the long journey back to the Professor's house, her new home. She and Caspian made small talk for a while that morning, but then the sun got too high in the sky, and they new that if Lucy was to be back home by afternoon tea, that she should start walking soon. "I'll come back in a few weeks," she said, just as she was getting herself ready to leave, "I'll bring food and anything else I think you might need."

They shook hands at first, but as Lucy was a more affectionate person than that, she embraced him quickly before turning around.

On her way back home, Lucy was in a rather thoughtful mood, the fact that King Frank and King Caspian had been friends was surprising enough, but how the war actually began, it was so different than what she had heard, and, quite frankly, it made her wonder if, before then, anyone told her anything but lies at all.

She was so deep in thought; she didn't even see the slim silhouette of a boy leaning up against a tree. This boy squinted at Lucy through his right eye, as his left was hidden behind the tree. He bit down in concentration until a few beads of blood, red as Lucy's cloak, appeared on his lower lip. He was looking carefully at her, seeing if she held anything in her hands, as he doubted she had pockets in that cloak.

Even when he whispered, she didn't hear him, then again, she may have been well out of earshot before he muttered, "She doesn't have it anymore. Susan's going to kill that Rabbit."

When the boy was absolutely positive that Lucy couldn't see him nor hear him, he turned around, in an eastward direction stalking into a deeper part of the forest, until he disappeared.


	6. The Resistance

Every once in awhile, the Professor and Aunt Polly would have several friends over for dinner parties. Or, at least, that's what Lucy was told they were. However, even Lucy's trusting nature had to doubt this a little. Whenever the same group of people came over, they would all go and lock themselves up in the Professor's study, where they would remain, without leaving to get up for dinner, until late into the night, in fact, Lucy was already asleep by the time everyone left.

The first time she had met this group of people, she had been sewing. Or, rather, she was attempting to sew the ripped seam of a dress. One thing you need to know about Lucy is that, although she can sew very basic stitches, she avoids it as much as she can. I haven't, personally, seen her sew a single stitch in years.

She avoids it, because it's a chore that she can hardly stand. Tiny stitches made her fingers turn blue, but if she made them any larger, the seams would come apart the next time they were pulled on the tiniest bit. That wasn't even mentioning the way that, somehow, the needle always ended up pricking her thumbs. Therefore, she always ended up with an enormous headache by the time she finished.

Of course, it was only fair that Lucy should have to repair her skirts as they ripped when she was climbing trees, crawling through small places, or any of the other things that Lucy did to occupy the time that she wasn't studying or wondering how Caspian was getting on. It didn't exactly warrant that she should enjoy herself while sewing, but she tried not to complain. Nevertheless, she found herself in an unusually grumpy mood as she attempted to fix a tear in one of her favorite skirts, though it might not be a favorite of hers for very long. Pastel colors can wear on the eyes if you look at nothing else for nearly an hour.

She slouched backward in the chair, never being one to be exceptionally prim and proper while she was alone. There was still a hole in the skirt large enough for her thumb poke through. From across the main floor, Lucy heard a distinct knocking at the front door. Rather than sitting around and letting someone else answer it, Lucy sprang up on her feet, and practically dashed across the large main foyer to open the door.

When she did, she was a bit surprised to see the assortment of people standing at the other end of the door. There was a pleasant-looking man with burgundy hair on his head, as well as on his goat lets, obviously a faun. Next to the faun, there was a short dwarf with a long sandy beard standing next to a black and white Badger. A few feet behind this first row of people, there was a hard-faced centaur. Standing next to the centaur, there was a depressed looking man with webbed fingers, very long legs and arms, and reedy green-gray hair, a Marsh-wiggle by the looks of him.

They all looked surprised to see a little girl answering the door instead of the old Professor or Aunt Polly. For a while the entirety of the group stood in silence, but then the faun spoke to Lucy. "You must be Lucy, the girl who came to stay with the Kirkes?"

"Yes, sir," she said, and here she paused. She didn't want to say that the Professor never mentioned any of them, and therefore she has no clue who any of them were, but she didn't know what to say. Thankfully, the faun spoke again.

"My name is Tumnus," he said with a little nod of his head.

"Please to meet you Mr. Tumnus," Lucy said, holding her hand out to shake, Tumnus took it, and proceeded to introduce everyone else.

He, first, gestured to the dwarf, "This is Trumpkin, right next to him is Trufflehunter," then, Mr. Tumnus waved behind him to the centaur, "That's Oreius, and next to him is Puddleglum," he finished with a gesture to the Marsh-wiggle.

"I suppose you'll forget it," Puddleglum said, "but I can just tell you again."

Mr. Tumnus spoke to Lucy again, "I don't suppose the Professor told you we were coming. But, don't worry; we didn't all invite ourselves. We're here for—"

"Don't tell her everything, Tumnus," Trumpkin said, interrupting him, "It's dangerous enough for all of us traveling together, much less you blurting everything out for anyone to hear."

Aunt Polly came down the stairs, walking while saying, "Lucy? Why are you standing there with the door open?" By the time she was at the foot of the stairs, she noticed the group of men standing just outside the door. "Oh! Hello, gentlemen. Lucy, open the door, and let them in."

Lucy stood aside, and watched, as young children often do during adult get-togethers. The adults walked up the long stairway. Mr. Tumnus smiled at Lucy when he passed her as he walked in, and up the stair. When she saw the adults disappear up the winding stair, she turned with a sigh back to her sewing.

While she was sewing, Lucy murmured to herself, "They seem like nice people. Say, I wonder what they're here for, and why it's such a secret. Or dangerous at all. Ow!" She put the skirt back on her lap, as she squeezed her thumb tightly, trying to cut of the circulation, ignoring the little bead of blood appearing from the needle.

Several months later, they came again. Only, this time, Lucy was asked to go into the study with them. Most people were sitting on the sofas and chairs organized throughout the room, the only people standing were the badger Trufflehunter, Aunt Polly, the centaur Oreius, and herself. She stood in a lonely corner, having a strong feeling that she ought to be seen and not heard, a principle that was exercised very few times in Lucy's life.

Lucy stood back and watched. These men and Aunt Polly seemed be called 'The Resistance,' or, at least, some things that they were saying alluded to that. It confused her. What would they be resisting? In books she had read, people didn't resist against other governments, not their own. Were these people against the Narnian crown? If so, why? Lucy didn't understand it, but she tried to sit still and learn what she could.

From what Lucy could tell, this group, the Resistance, seemed to be made of people from every corner of Narnia, they spoke of others in this group, others that weren't there. It seemed as though these people were stationed as such for a purpose. They all seemed to be referred to, at the beginning, as where they were from. The Professor and Aunt Polly were referred to as the Southwest. Mr. Tumnus as the Cair Paravel, Oreius as the Army Trufflehunter as the West, Trumpkin as the East, and Puddleglum as the Northeast. It seemed to be a queer way of taking attendance.

"The princes are still missing," Mr. Tumnus said, starting a new order of business after a few minutes of Oreius speaking of the quality of the war camps, "although, I believe that there was tell of them being sighted in the northeast." All eyes shifted to Puddleglum at this.

"I haven't seen them. They probably were caught, I'd expect." Puddleglum said.

Aunt Polly shook her head, "If they were, Prince Peter would probably be back in the public eye. It would help with the control façade."

"Beards and bedsteads!" Trumpkin said, "If the boys wanted to be found, they would be found."

"How long to they intend to hide?" Oreius asked, "It would be better for all if they face things instead of hiding away."

Trufflehunter shook his furry head, "You know very well, as we all do, that if they're found, it will be death for Prince Edmund, at the least. The Ape still thinks that he has it."

"What are you talking about?" Lucy finally asked, speaking up, "What Ape? Why will it mean death for Prince Edmund?" She didn't know the younger prince of Narnia, but she didn't like the idea of his life being in danger. In fact, it made a feeling bubble up in her stomach, a feeling that she wasn't sure what it was at the moment. If I liked clichés, I'd say that it was the feeling of fate, but that sounds way too sentimental for my liking.

"There are those out there who wish to do the princes in, and to ruin the crown. It's always been like this, there have always been people who do terrible things," Mr. Tumnus said. "That's what we're trying to stop."

If that was the case, for one, Lucy was thankful. She didn't like the idea of the Professor, Aunt Polly, and all these others that she had begun to like, being against the crown. Still, it brought up another question; if they weren't against the House of Frank, what were they resisting?

The Professor folded his hands on his desk, "With that bit of information, I guess we should all move on to our next order of business. Lucy, has Prince Caspian told you anything happening to him out of the ordinary?"

"Out of the ordinary?" Lucy echoed, "No, I don't think so. He seems to be doing all right. Is something wrong?"

No one gave her a straight answer, the room mostly echoed with, "Not exactly," and "We're not sure."

"But," Lucy said, "he was fine last I saw him."

Aunt Polly spoke, her voice acting as a stone dropping into a pond, sending ripples of unknown feeling through Lucy's person, "He probably doesn't know."

"What doesn't he know? What's going on here?" Lucy asked, "Please, just tell me. I'm involved! If it concerns my friend, where I'm staying, or my country, I'm involved."

The room fell into silence for a few moments, but it was Puddleglum who next spoke, "You wouldn't be able to recognize your country if you lived in the city."

What's strange, is that this normally pessimistic creature, was right. She wouldn't notice the enormous flocks of peasants gathering in the cities crying in protest, or how poverty had begun to become a normal thing for the citizens.

"Why? Please, someone, tell me what's going on." Lucy asked, her voice crackling, perhaps it was finally time for her to learn and understand everything that people wouldn't tell her.

The Professor stood up, and walked towards his mantle, talking as he did so, "As you know, the princes have been missing for awhile now, along with the Lady Susan. What most people don't know is why they went missing. Fewer still know how they've been able to evade the police for so long. That, we don't even know, which poses as a problem as to if we'll find them. However, we do know why they ran away."

Lucy wrinkled her eyebrow, "Okay, let me make sure I understand. You're trying to stop an Ape from killing Prince Edmund? And," she spoke slowly, trying not to forget anything, "that has something to do why the princes and the Lady Susan ran away? You're all trying to find the princes to keep them alive?"

"You're a bright girl, and you're, more or less, correct." The Professor spoke, now playing absentmindedly with the vial in his palm. "It's more complicated than that, but, then again, what isn't? Lucy, you found this vial in the woods. You may have it back again, as long as you promise, never to leave it where anyone could take it—I don't care if someone says that the king wants it. Understand?" He offered the vial, ripped of the tag that had said _Drink Me, _back to Lucy.

Lucy nodded, but was almost immediately deafened by all the other's responses. It seemed to be a very unthinkable thing, because right when Lucy reached for it, the whole room went up in a chaotic mess. She heard Aunt Polly cry, "Digory! You can't! You can't put a child in this position!"

The room got louder and louder, everyone was loudly protesting the Professor's choice to give Lucy back the vial. All seemed to agree that it would bring failure to them, whatever it is they were trying to achieve. Yelling, so as to be heard above the uproar, Lucy shouted, "What is it?" When the room reduced to silence, she took her volume down, "Why is it so bad?"

The room went quiet again. Aunt Polly took several steps toward Lucy, "Do you remember what I told you the last time you asked this?"

Lucy nodded, but had to think back on it for a moment or two. "Yes, you said that it's something that people messed with that they should've left alone."

"Good," Aunt Polly said, "After some careful research, Digory and I found that our hunches on that were correct. You see; the base, if you will, of the contents of the vial is made from the juice of the fire-flower. They only grow in the mountains of the sun, and one drop of the juice can cure any ailment or injury."

"You can guess," Mr. Tumnus spoke from his seat in the room, "that it's very rare to find."

Trumpkin added on to the faun's comment, "Only a madman would mess with something that valuable."

"But, someone did?" Lucy asked, swearing she could feel the liquid in the vial become a bit warmer, as if it just came off of the mountain of the sun.

The Professor sighed, "A long time ago, I believe it was very shortly after I first met Polly, there was a rumor running around, saying that several alchemists found a fire-flower, where, I don't know, but they messed with it, in hopes of changing it's makeup to change the results of using the juice. These rumors, as we've learned, were true. From all of our best guesses, we only supposed that the alchemists altered it to not only cure injury of sickness, but to also make the drinker stronger. But, past there, we're not sure. We're not about to test it. However, if it does indeed make the drinker stronger, to the point that we think, it could possibly make the drinker insuperable."

Lucy nodded, biting her lip. Somehow, she knew that it was all connected, and, somehow, she also knew that E, the E who the vial was for, was none other than Prince Edmund. Hundreds of questions were circling in Lucy's head then; what did any of it have to do with the princes? Why did Prince Edmund have it, and why would it lead to his death? Why had he, and presumably Prince Peter and the Lady Susan, left it in the woods? Who was the Ape mentioned earlier?

Only one of these many questions escaped her lips, however, "I think understand this, but what I don't understand, is why this all began in mentioning Caspian. How does he fit in all this?"

"We had to see how much of the…chaos has spread, and how quickly. We'll know we're running out of time when he mentions something." The Professor said, and all of the others nodded in reply.

Out of time? Lucy thought, out of time for what? Somehow, all of this was related; the altered fire-flower juice, the princes' disappearance, this 'chaos' they were speaking of that Lucy didn't understand, and even Caspian, somehow, it all went together. Lucy just didn't understand how or why.

"This brings us to the next bit," Trumpkin said, "How do you expect to keep it safe from so many who want its power, while it's under a child's protection?"

"From all that her mother as told me," the Professor said, sitting back down at his desk, reaching for his pipe and a pinch of tobacco, "and from what I've seen myself, there isn't anyone else whom I could find with such well-defined definitions of right and wrong. Unless I have been very misinformed, the line is never fine or hazy for this child."

"You speak of the virtues of her innocence, but even one innocent mistake can be the death of us all." Oreius stamped lightly on the ground with his hooves, and Aunt Polly cringed at the new, accidental scuffs in her floor.

Aunt Polly spoke next, "Digory, are you sure you know what you're doing? I think you're making a mistake—I know what her mother's told us, but, for Lion's sakes, she brought the Telmarine prince home! It didn't cause too much commotion this time, but we can't be certain for the future. And, she's only a child. What would happen if Shift sends for her?"

Mr. Tumnus cleared his throat, "Excuse me, but I don't think we should be talking about the girl as if she isn't in the room with us. And I, for one, think that she should be able to keep it. She found it, and it's already back in her possession. I think she'll be able to keep it safe. And now, I think we should move on to the next order of business."

Evidently, the adults didn't want Lucy to be in the room with them for the rest of the meeting, or at least this part of it, because she was excused out of the room for the night. She crawled under her sheets, and watched as the candlelight reflected off the smooth glass of the vial, and off of the pseudo juice of the fire-flower. She thought that by the time morning came; perhaps she could try and understand it all better, by asking either the Professor when she saw him or Aunt Polly over lessons or breakfast. However, when she awoke the next morning, she noticed that the door to the Professor's study was still locked tight, and it was obvious that they had all debated clear through the night, and were still arguing.

**A/N: Please review!**


	7. Potentially Problematic

Time passed quickly, as more and more things went wrong. Narnia lost more battles than it won, and Telmar, had somehow managed to seize Ettinsmoor, despite already being at war with Narnia. Therefore, Telmar had double the soldiers that they previously had. This is trouble alone without even mentioning the sad state of Narnia; King Frank hadn't addressed the Narnians personally ever since his sons had gone missing, and it seemed as though everything was taking a turn for the worse.

The Resistance still came around every so often. Lucy would sit around with them, and listen to Tumnus talk about things involving King Frank that she didn't understand, and all of them talking about things that made Lucy upset, new prejudices that were appalling and unheard of. Although Lucy was allowed to sit along with the Resistance, no one would answer her questions upfront.

One particular day, Lucy was standing in the kitchen, fixing bread, dried meats, and a flask of water into a wicker basket. She was speaking with Aunt Polly as she did so. All the bad things that were happening, for a while, were dulled, and not as apparent in Lucy's mind. "Do you want me to do anything for you before I go?" She asked, folding a rag around the foods in the basket.

"No," Aunt Polly said, after a moment's thought, "Go ahead, it'll be evening by the time you get there as it is."

She didn't have to be asked twice to leave. In moments, she was back in the forest, as she had been many times, going to spend a few days with her dear friend. Under the nice weather, and calm temperature, the hours it took to cross seemed to pass in a shorter time than it normally did.

Lucy lost track of how many times she made that daylong walk through the Western Wood to see Caspian. However, it didn't matter. Over time, it had just become something that she did. Every two to three weeks, she would walk across the forest, and spend a few days with her friend. Sometimes when she got back, the Resistance would be meeting, sometimes not. Occasionally, when the Resistance was there, she would sit in on the meetings halfway through, but not always. It was a bit of an uncertain cycle, although, she always knew that she would be walking to Caspian's temporary home every few weeks.

The cottage had started as Caspian's temporary home, but after he lived in it so long, it was beginning to become a wonder if he would ever leave. It didn't seem like it. Not that Lucy minded; she liked having a friend around her age.

Jumping over a trickling stream, Lucy let her hood fall backwards. If the way her cloak hung beside her ankles, just as most cloaks should, instead of dragging on the ground behind her, wasn't enough of a clue, her face truly showed how much time had gone by. Five years ago, when the war had just begun, Lucy had been nine years old, rosy cheeked, and small; like a baby bird, perhaps a robin. In comparison to that, it was obvious that she had grown. Her face had lost its baby fat, leaving it much slimmer than it had been before; it mostly showed along her jaw line, something that had previously been a cluster of soft flesh, but instead showed up as a subtle curved line. Not to mention her cheeks were a quite a bit less chubby than they had been. She was still thin as a rail, but, at fourteen, was beginning to develop a subtle figure. If I could sum it up in my own words, I'd say that she had grown into a very attractive young person, but that's my personal bias, and honestly, I don't know if anyone else would think so. Back then, I didn't even have this bias, but, again, I digress.

Before long, she saw the brick exterior of Caspian's cottage, and found a smile slapped onto her features. She quickened her pace. Although she often made this trip, and often saw the stone, brick, and the remains to a failure of a garden they had tried to make in the first year, she still found herself excited to see Caspian, to talk to him, to enjoy the company of someone only two years her senior.

In her hand, she held a thick envelope. It might come as a shock to some people, but even though a country's at war, life still goes on; women still give birth, people still marry, messengers and the postal system still run, though perhaps slower than they would in times of peace. As it happened, Lucy had gotten a letter from her mother.

The first letter she had gotten was much like any other letter that could be sent from one's mother. It had been wonderful to hear that things were going as well as they could, that she was loved and missed. She had written back immediately, with such zeal that she nearly broke the Professor's quill. For some reason, unbeknownst to her, she found that she left certain things out when writing to her mother. She hadn't told her that she was entrusted to keep some the valuable and dangerous pseudo juice of the fire-flower, she said, instead, that she was trusted very much by the Professor and Aunt Polly. Then again, in this area, she had been told to keep it a secret, and that there was likelihood that, at some point, mail would begin to be checked, and Lucy was told not to give the specifics. She didn't tell about Caspian either, all she said was that she had befriended a boy who lived nearby. Still, even though she had to tell half-truths to keep everyone safe, she still felt guilty.

Getting letters from her mother made Lucy excited in the same way that makes you want to shout it from the rooftops. Can you blame her? After all, she was beginning the age that girls need their mothers the most, whether or not most girls want to admit it, she was very nearly without one, not having seen her in five years.

She had hoped that Caspian might be somewhat interested in the letter; perhaps she could read him parts of it. He liked hearing stories about Narnia, so, perhaps, he might like to hear about the everyday life of a Narnian. Or, perhaps, he would just let her tell him about it, seeing how excited she had gotten herself.

Lucy didn't bother to knock when she reached the door; Caspian was probably expecting her. She simply lifted the latch and let herself in, calling, "Caspian! Are you in?"

The Telmarine's voice came from a loft up above, "I'll be down in a minute."

To keep himself busy over the years, Caspian had done several renovation projects, he put up a crude-looking log wall, separating the sleeping area from the rest of the place, and had created a more private place for bathing up in the loft, he had also said that he would try making a mattress up there, so that he wouldn't have to sleep on the sofa anymore when Lucy came on her visits, and Lucy could always have the main bed, so there wouldn't be arguments on the matter any more.

The cottage certainly looked different, besides the renovations, it was definitely lived in. The bed was hastily made, like someone who didn't really care if the blankets were aligned or not made it, story books and maps were strewn on the table, and, over the mantel, Caspian's sword in its sheath was placed on pegs that he had once made out of boredom.

"Anything new happen?" Lucy asked, nonchalantly resting on the couch, her finger tracing the seal that she knew to be of her family, although the fact they had a seal at all didn't really matter to her, but it did take the mystery of who it was from away, whether or not that's a good thing, is unknown.

Caspian came down the latter, he was dressed, but his hair was wet. He probably had just gotten out of the bath when Lucy had entered. Thank Aslan that Caspian had put up a wall the summer before. "No, but don't ask me. I'm the one kept away from the world," he sat down on the chair beside the sofa that Lucy was sitting at.

Leaning forward, Lucy put a hand over Caspian's, "Are you still upset about that?"

Caspian shrugged. A while ago, he had brought it to attention that he felt horrible about sitting around, and not being able to do anything, although it wasn't his fault. There was no more word of a militia group in the west, and so, Caspian had run out of options. After a minute or so, he sat up straight, and suggested they start making supper.

Together they worked, only half serious, considering the mood lightened a great deal for a while, to make supper for that night. The result was a rather bitter pot of what could only be described as a thick and lumpy sort of gumbo. They sat on the floor, with bowls in their laps; Lucy began to read the letter from her mother and Caspian ate quietly.

The letter opened as most did, her mother reminded her that she was often thought of, that she was missed terribly, and loved dearly. After the cordial inquiries of how she was doing, the letter took a turn for the worse. Obviously her face showed it, because Caspian said from next to her, "What's wrong?"

Lucy's hand went against her cheek, "It's my friend Gwendolen."

"The one whose house was burned down last summer?" Caspian asked.

"Yes," Lucy stammered, "It's…it's so awful. She and her family…they were incarcerated. For no reason other than being Telmarine-Narnians. First the insults, then their house was burned, and now they're…they're gone."

"Does it say where to?"

"No," Lucy scanned over the letter again, biting her lip, "Only that they were all taken away, by a group of police, made up of Wolves. They…they said that they were following orders from the king!"

"That doesn't make sense," Caspian said, looking for himself at the letter over Lucy's shoulder, "I know that I found King Frank a little frightening when I met him, but he didn't seem like the sort of person who would lock people up just because they hailed from Telmar…they're citizens of Narnia, aren't they?"

"This is bad, Caspian," Lucy said, smoothing out the paper underneath her hands.

"I know." Caspian's mouth was a tight line, as he looked at his friend.

Lucy bit her lip, "Why would they do something so horrible?"

Caspian sunk down closer to Lucy, who was still in an obvious state of distress, "Your friend will be all right."

"How could so many things be so wrong?" Lucy asked, turning to look eye-to-eye with Caspian, "How many Telmarine-Narnians got thrown away just because of where they're from? The Resistance has told me that nearly all the Talking Beasts in court got kicked out, too! But there are still Wolves in the police, and other Beasts in the army. Even then, both Mum and the others have told me, shops and public places have these horrid signs on them, 'Humans Only,' 'Beasts Need Not Apply,' and 'Animals Should Be Seen and Not Heard.' Oh, what's happening to Narnia, Caspian? What's happening?"

"I don't know."

"We need to do something." Lucy exclaimed, throwing the letter down, "Something's gone very wrong, and we have to figure out what. We'll set things right. "

Caspian nodded in agreement, and proceeded to put his arm around her shoulder, and she, suddenly very tired from being all wound up, rested her head on his, staring into the fire, and they stayed like this until the flames turned into the smallest, least luminous embers. Now, if you're thinking what I think you're thinking, let me be the first to tell you to shut up.

**A/N: Who wants to guess which three parts of American history I stole from for what's going on with the Telmarine-Narnians and Talking Beasts? ****I know this chapter is really short, but I apologize, it's all I could get around to writing; stress in school is really killing me.**


	8. Missing Princes of Narnia

Before the sun even began to rise over the horizon, Lucy and Caspian were awake, and fixing breakfast for themselves. The previous night, they had made plans together to head to the Professor's immediately, so that they could ask their questions together.

Lucy drank some heated water, not having the patience to wait for tealeaves to flavor the plain liquid. For the most part, they both spent the dark morning in silence while getting ready, contemplating what they would say when they got the Professor's.

She didn't know what she'd say. For five years she had been asking questions, and never getting answers. Still, she felt as though that day was going to be different in some way, shape, or form. Perhaps it was because she was desperate to know the truth, or perhaps there was just something in the air when she woke up.

"Are you ready to go?" Caspian's words were the first spoken that morning. His voice, too, held a certain quality of hope, or otherwise something else, something that told he also knew that their questions would be answered before the day was out.

They set out together, "Other than the whole of what's going on," Caspian said, a few minutes into the forest, "I don't think I have much to ask. What are you going to say?"

Lucy shrugged, "The same. I just want to know what's going on, and what we can do to help Narnia. Perhaps at the next meeting the Resistance has we could both, oh, I don't know, maybe go with Mr. Tumnus or Oreius so that we can help."

"I'm never at the meetings," Caspian said, "Do you think that they'll trust me enough to let me go with them?"

"Of course!" Lucy said, "Besides, you have to come. We're in this together."

Caspian smiled at her, "We'd better be getting on then."

For some unknown reason, they both found themselves running at their top pace, Lucy a little in front of Caspian, since she was used to moving through the woods more than he was. They wanted to skip the long journey and just get to their destination. So, they ran, and ran, and ran. They only stopped to catch their breaths and take a drink of water here and there. Soon, but not nearly soon enough, they reached the familiar house, lowering their pace only by a little, dropping from sprint to a mere run; the answers were so close.

When they entered the house, Lucy didn't bother to take off her cloak, or even wipe the mud off her slippers at the door, she simply ran up to the study, where she knew the Professor would be, she stumbling a bit on an upturned corner of a rug before she bolted up the many stairs, with Caspian on her heels. She could feel it; her questions would be answered. She hadn't run practically the entire way through the Western Wood to have her questions slighted like they had been the past five years. No, she decided, she was getting answers. They had to tell her; they just had to.

She flew into the study, where she knew running into the front of the desk, making a bottle of ink almost spill all over the shiny surface, Caspian skidding to a halt just inside the study's door.

Flushed and out of breath, it took her a moment of panting before she was able to say what she wanted to, "Please. I need to know. We need to know." Between every sentence she spoke, she took heavy breaths to compensate for the hour of running previous to this, "What's going on with Narnia, I mean." She was beginning to feel the thorns in her legs and the cramps in her side from the long-term sprinting.

Oddly enough, the Professor looked amused, and, when Lucy looked around the room, she was surprised to find that Aunt Polly wasn't in the room with them. "You should know, Lucy," the Professor said, "haven't you been listening all this time? And you, Caspian, should know too. Or have I been wrong in assuming that she tells you everything?"

"She does tell me the things she learns with the Resistance." Caspian said. He, too, was panting. "But neither of us know that much."

"Yes," Lucy said, adding on, "I know some things. I know that terrible things are happening in Narnia, and they all seem to be unrelated to the war with Telmar; that much I know. But no one has ever answered any of my questions upfront."

"In that case, you shouldn't be asking _what's going on_ with Narnia, you should be asking _who's meddling_." The Professor said, "The what's are often easier to figure out than the who's and why's."

"I suppose so." Lucy bit her lip in thought, "Will you tell me if I ask?"

The Professor shook his head, "I'm not the right person to tell you."

"But, sir, please. Who else will tell me?"

After what seemed like a moment's thought, the Professor said, "You know, you missed quite the issue last night. It was the sort of thing that you'd find intriguing, too. Three travelers came to our door. They asked to stay because one of them had an unusually high fever."

"Oh!" Lucy said, feeling bad for the sick traveler, "You let them stay didn't you?"

"I would have even if I thought I had the choice," the Professor said, coming to his feet, "Either way, they're still here, and I think they might be the best to answer your questions."

Both Lucy and Caspian followed after sharing a brief glance. They followed the Professor through many halls, passing many historical artifacts, and nearly clear across the house. It took quite awhile. They followed down the empty halls with amazing rugs and its artwork, and old Narnian design. Back when Lucy had first come to live there, and occasionally even afterward, she would wonder why only two people lived in such a big old house and things of that nature. Her wonderings weren't that of a practical sort, either, but of personal comparison, coming from the simple house that she did. She sometimes even felt sorry for the poor rooms, even though this makes no sense at all. Half of those grand rooms weren't even stepped in on a regular basis. This was one of the many reasons that she took to exploring as much as she had in the first few years.

Lucy brought her mind back from the past, when they reached the far end of the hallway. She quickly reminded herself that she was fourteen, not nine, and she was about to meet travelers that, for some reason, had the answers to her questions. She focused on what was going on.

The far wall of the hallway had nothing else there but a paneled window and a large portrait of a sharp-nosed old lady dressed in black. The Professor mumbled something about "Old Mrs. Lefay" and proceeded to remove the portrait from its place hanging on the wall. Although Lucy had expected something behind the portrait, there was nothing but the shiny, woodwork walls. Except, when she squinted to get a closer look, she noticed that the paneling wasn't quite equal. She couldn't help but think how curious that was.

The Professor moved his thin fingers over the wood boards, and, after getting a firm grip on the uneven panels, and, to Lucy's surprise, lifted a large chunk of wall, revealing a narrow, dull white door.

The Professor pulled out a brass key and stuck it into the narrow door's brass handle. It opened on squeaky hinges to reveal a long flight of stairs, leading to what was quite possibly, an attic. The Professor gestured up them, "Go on up. I have something on my desk that needs my attention. So, I leave you here. Just tell them who you are, if they don't figure it out themselves, and remember not to simply rush to the questions." With that, the tall man turned and walked away, leaving Lucy and Caspian at this strange door.

"I'll follow you," Caspian said, looking through the open space, looking at the occasional cobweb and holes possibly belonging to dumb mice.

As it turned out, they had to climb into the door, as it didn't start at the floor, but a few feet above it, more of a hole than a doorway. The stairway seemed to have a draft, and several cobwebs hung between steps and up on the walls. It gave an ominous feel, and yet, Lucy felt immediately compelled to climb them.

There was no railing on the stairs, and with each step, the wood seemed to almost give way. Lucy hoped they wouldn't break with her on them, her legs already quivering from her long run. The narrowness of the stairway made her a bit claustrophobic as well, and she couldn't help but wonder why the Professor would put three travelers up there. All this brought up the question as to how they would have the answers to Lucy's questions, even though a new one came into her mind; who were these travelers? As there were already enough questions circling in her mind, she forced herself not to think of anything until she got some answers. Lucy accidentally missed a step on her way up. She would have fallen forward but, fortunately, Caspian caught her. Unfortunately, he caught her around the waist.

"Are you all right?" he asked.

"Yes," Lucy said, turning around a bit to see him, "thank you."

As they reached the top of the stairs, Lucy found that the room was indeed an attic; it was spacious and had a high ceiling. The odd thing was that there seemed to be halls and separate rooms in this space, although it made sense; considering it was about the length of entire building. She was told later on, that there used to be all sorts of tunnels through the rafters of the house, the Professor and Aunt Polly had once used them as a hiding place when they were younger and the house belonged to the Professor's uncle. Those tunnels broke from use after awhile, and were later remolded into the rooms and halls that Lucy saw before her.

The attic had a wooden, dusty feel, even though it wasn't all that dusty at all. It was on the topmost floor, and, yes it would have been cold if it weren't for the blazing fire in a stone fireplace, near which, she could see the murky silhouettes of two boys and a sleeping girl on a pile of soft-looking cushions and blankets. From the long distance, she could hear them speaking. One, obviously the eldest, spoke in a manner that seemed worried, distraught but still, with an air of something that Lucy could not name straightaway. After listening for a bit, the first words that came to mind were noble, but perhaps a little self-righteous. A good quality paired with a bad. Despite this, Lucy found that she had begun to like him in a second.

She listened. "Thank the Lion that it wasn't something worse. I had thought she had pneumonia." The voice that Lucy liked said.

Right after this, Caspian put his hand on Lucy's shoulder; she looked back at him, and seemed to realize that he knew who these people were. Later on, Lucy felt bad that she hadn't noticed straightaway as well, being a Narnian by birth, but she really can't be blamed. After all, it had been five years since she'd seen a portrait of either of the boys, and they had bother changed quite drastically, not even mentioning that it was nearly impossible to make out their features in the lighting.

Soon the next one spoke, he was younger, and he seemed to be lacking several traits of the first boy. Using the first thing that came to mind, Lucy decided that he seemed more haunted, but still, more immature and abrasive at the same time. Lucy continued to watch from afar. "In the meantime, we're stuck inside a drafty old attic. You'd think that any decent Narnian would give us a room or—"

"Edmund, shut up." The older one said, "You know we're here in case the house gets searched; we've been spotted, remember?"

"Stupid Crow." The one who was apparently Edmund said, "I say, you don't suppose—Peter!" he said suddenly, now staring in the direction that Lucy and Caspian were standing. "Look! It's her. It's Red. I think our luck might just be changing."

At this point Lucy, now able to figure out their names, was able to figure out their identities. She now knew that she was standing before the missing princes of Narnia. After all this time, they simply showed up in the attic of her home. After a moment of thinking how odd the way fate decides to play its cards, she stepped forward, "Your Highnesses?"

Prince Peter seemed amused. "We haven't been called that in five years. Don't bother with it. Just call me Peter, I'm more used to it." Suddenly his amusement vanished, noticing Caspian behind Lucy, "Prince Caspian."

"You haven't been called a prince in five years," said Caspian, seemingly in an attempt to make a sort of speech, "and neither have I. We're on the same ship now, and I want to help Narnia."

A strange sense of judgment seemed to pass through Peter's eyes, before he nodded a bit, and ticked his head towards the cushions that everyone was seated at, seemingly telling Caspian to come closer, "All right."

Edmund spoke, not to Caspian, but to Lucy. "Come here and sit down, Red."

"My name isn't Red. It's Lucy," she spoke, stepping forward, closer to the fire, and closer to the missing Narnian princes.

Edmund shrugged, as if it didn't quite matter. It was when Lucy got close enough to make out the details of their faces that she found herself surprised in a way that was impossible to mask, and almost asked what happened to him, but caught herself just in time, knowing that it might be insulting. Underneath the prince's eye, there was a horrible scar. It looked as if someone had burned the skin on his cheek after slitting it with a crude, uneven knife. Catching herself staring, Lucy looked at her feet, "Sorry. I didn't mean to stare," she said.

"Didn't expect it, huh?" Edmund said, poking a stick into the fire near where he sat, and said in a quieter voice, one not meant for anyone to hear, but Lucy heard it anyhow, "I know I didn't."

Edmund confused Lucy. She thought about it as she sat down, discarding the impact of the scar taking up one side of his face, she found that he certainly wasn't ugly, and even somewhat handsome; the scar even made him all the more interesting looking. He didn't make the best first impressions, but there was something in him, something under the scar and his abrasive personality, which she found quite likeable and even intriguing.

"What's happened to her?" Lucy asked suddenly, noticing the girl whom she assumed to be the Lady Susan. Susan was, even in the pale, sickly state she was in, extremely beautiful. It could be argued that no other human had the perfect, porcelain beauty of the Lady Susan. In fact, because of her sickness, she looked rather like a porcelain doll; unusually pale, like the clean snow on the first day of winter before anyone bothered to ruin it with their footsteps, and with bright pink cheeks from fever.

"Susan?" Peter asked, "She got sick almost week ago and just kept on getting worse. Mrs. Kirke was sent to get her medicine, and Susan's supposed to stay knocked out until she gets the medicine. Although, the Professor said the sleeping draft is only supposed to work for a few hours when it's made by a professional, so she could wake up any minute now, considering it was made by an amateur."

"Unless she decides that the only way out of this hellhole is to stop breathing." Edmund muttered darkly; throwing a chunk of bread he had been nibbling on into the fire.

"You're a git, you know that?" Peter said, glaring at his brother, but then, in noticing the rather upset look on Lucy's face, decided to address her, "So, Lucy, isn't it? Don't mind him, he's been in a bad mood for a long time. Do you live here? I thought the Professor and Mrs. Kirke didn't have children?"

Lucy explained the situation she was in, and proceeded to have a friendly three-way conversation between herself, Peter, and Caspian, while Edmund kept himself out of it by staring into the dancing flames. Lucy found that she quite liked Peter; he spoke like, and had the face of a ruler, and it certainly didn't take too much imagination to see him sitting on one of the thrones at Cair Paravel. This wasn't even at all mentioning that Peter, like Caspian, listened to what she said, and seemed to really care. It seemed like the makings of a promising friendship.

Lucy didn't get the answers for her questions that night, but she was okay with that. After all, she was closer than she had been before; she could feel it.

**A/N: Okay, before you go off telling me that I'm getting Edmund out of character, know that I'm somewhat basing it on what he's like in LWW, so please just roll with it. Please review! **


	9. Interlude

The cushions and blankets put around the floor of the attic near the fireplace were surprisingly soft and relaxing. Lucy wasn't sure if she was supposed to fall asleep whilst having conversations with Peter and Caspian, but she had. It wasn't as relaxing as sleeping on, say, a downy mattress or the bottom of a wardrobe, but it was still reasonably relaxing. She found that, even though it got colder when the fire turned from dancing flames into low embers, there were more than enough blankets to cocoon oneself into relaxing warmth and have a comfortable sleeping place. The reassuring sound of several others' snoring and relaxed breathing made it even more comfortable. She quickly fell asleep.

When Lucy woke up the next morning, Peter was the only other one awake, sitting in a windowsill that she hadn't noticed before. Lucy thought he looked tired and almost grieving, and decided to see what was bothering him.

"Is something wrong?" she whispered, trying not to wake the others, particularly Caspian who was curled up in a slumbering ball just a few feet away from where she was standing.

Peter held up a paper packet in his hand, "This," he said, "is the medicine for Susan. Mrs. Kirke told me to mix it in with some tea or coffee and feed it to Susan when she wakes up. But, I don't know if she's going to."

"Of course she will! You're thinking about what your brother said, aren't you?" Lucy wanted to comfort him somehow, but having only just met him, she didn't quite know how to accomplish this.

Blowing out abruptly, Peter mumbled, "Even if I don't like it, I should at least be used to him by now. He's been like this ever since he got the scar, but sometimes he still gets under my skin, in a new and more bothersome way than before."

"I'm sure that…" Lucy paused, not entirely sure what to say. She wished she could say something to him, something that might even make him smile, but what exactly, she didn't know. She could say that she was sure that Edmund was simply going through a phase, but as she hadn't met him before the previous night, she could do nothing of the sort. Instead, she said, "You'll be all right."

"It's not me that I'm worried about," Peter said, "if worse comes to worst I can take care of myself. But it's them who I worry about."

A brief pause followed. Eventually, Lucy said, "Susan should be well soon, after you give her the medicine. It's supposed to help.

Sniffing thoughtfully, Peter said, "You're right. We've just got to wait for Susan to wake up." He paused, and said, "She always came off as bossy when she got on Edmund's or my case about how we wanted to stay here. She always said that it made us sitting ducks to be discovered. And then, shortly after she fell sick, that Crow found us."

"But, you weren't trying to be found." Lucy said; only wondering for a few seconds if what she said made any sense at all. Scenes from previous meetings of the Resistance running through her head, things with Trumpkin saying that if the boys wanted to be found, they would be. She had never read too much into it when it was said, her mind otherwise occupied, but now it seemed more important.

Peter chewed on his lip, "I can't say that we were exactly being careful when we were found. With Susan sick, it sort of took us by surprise and we forgot our heads. When Susan finds out she's going to go mad over it." He chuckled, "She's always been irritated by the way my brother and I aren't the most careful about being found. Even though she's been known to want more interesting conversation, not that I blame her. She's had no one to talk to for years but my brother and myself. I must be getting boring to her by now."

Lucy opened her mouth to say something, but just at that time, Edmund rolled over in his sleep, muttering, "Peter forgot his shoes." A few moments passed, before Edmund mumbled sleepily, "What will the cherubs do now?"

Lucy covered her mouth with her hands to stifle her mad giggles, as Peter shook his head while laughing quietly. "He hasn't said something that strange since it was something a orange-brick road."

"He always talks in his sleep, then? Poor boy." Lucy mused.

"Let's just say that I hope that whatever girl he ends up marrying isn't a light sleeper, or she might not get any sleep for weeks."

Just for the record, I resent that.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Lucy kept a large trunk beside the foot of her bed, as it gave her a place to put dresses long-since outgrown, letters from her mother, and other trinkets she had collected on her own throughout the years. It was longer than her bed, nearly as long as the wingspan of an albatross, and made up of a deep red wood and was polished just so that it shone brightly whenever light fell upon it. But Lucy's favorite part was the engraving onto the lid, she had been known to sit on her bed and trace it upside-down with her index finger, reading it aloud. "When he bares his teeth, winter meets its death. And when he shakes his mane, we shall have spring again."

She only stopped for a brief moment to skid her fingers above the fixed letters, as was her habit, and proceeded to kneel down and open the lid rather abruptly. The sudden appearance of the princes had got her mind working, and made her want to check something that she hadn't looked in on in a great while.

Taking out the topmost layer of folded up letters, Lucy placed them on the bed, she liked to keep the letters; it helped when she wanted to remember her mother. She thought back momentarily to the most recent letter she had gotten, the one telling of Gwendolen getting taken away. It made the whole of the situation come back to her mind, and made her rifle through the old dresses faster than she otherwise would have, throwing them over her shoulder and letting them fall to the ground crumpled in a heap; it wasn't as if she truly cared all that much about the dresses anyway, she just didn't want to throw them away, considering Aunt Polly must have bought them all for her, and it seemed rude to throw gifts out.

Once those were out of the way, she got to the bottom section of the trunk, exactly the part she was looking for. There were sharp shards all around the bottom, from a glass shoe that had broken a long time ago, before Lucy even began to use the trunk, there was a collection of white stones Lucy had once collected from the woods, and, finally, amongst other trinkets, she found what she was looking for. The glass of the vial was stone cold, but the contents reflected beautifully, shimmering in the light.

Careful not to accidentally cut herself on the glass shards, Lucy lifted the vial containing the pseudo juice of the fire-flower and tilted it in her hands. A few years ago, she had gotten a leather pouch to keep the vial in, and when she carried it around, although that didn't happen very often, she would keep it in the pouch. It was easier to carry it around her shoulder than to actually hold it and let it fumble in her hands. She was just about to put the vial back into the pouch when she heard a voice from behind her.

"I knew it! I knew you had it!"

Lucy whipped around on her heels to see Edmund standing in her doorway. The orange flames from the candle and small fireplace cast a gruesome light on his scar. "Sorry?" Lucy asked, involuntarily holding the vial closer in towards her.

"I knew that you took my stuff. Come on, Red, hand it over, since it was mine to begin with." He stretched his hand out, and took a few steps forward.

Lucy stepped back, pulling so that it was touching her stomach. "I can't."

Edmund crossed his arms at his chest. "And why not?" he said, his mouth a thin line.

"Because," Lucy began, for some reason unable to look Edmund in the eye, "I promised that I wouldn't give it up to anyone. I can't go back on my word."

Since he hadn't many lessons in tact because the only people he interacted with for a very long time were used to him, Edmund muttered to himself, "That's just like a girl, talking about keeping promises and all that, but don't even have the decency to give back what they've stolen."

"I didn't steal it!" Lucy came to her own defense, "I didn't even mean to take it, but I was…" she drifted off. She couldn't help but wonder why she didn't want to admit in front of him that she had been scared by the arrow. Perhaps it was his attitude. Having just met him, she didn't know if he would say something hurtful or think badly of her. "In any case, I'm not a thief."

"I know, I know. You don't need to whine. A Rabbit came to you and led you to it. I told that Rabbit to get the boy in the black cloak, not the girl in the red one. But you did take it. Just give it back." It was a bit surprising that he didn't stamp his feet at this point. "I need it."

Lucy put her hands on her hips, although she still held the vial in one hand, and she insisted, "I can't! Why do you need it?"

Edmund didn't exactly want to admit that the only reason he even had the juice in the first place was to keep it away from the Ape, the same reason Lucy had it. The thing was; the years without the juice had given him plenty of time to wonder about all he could personally do with it. He could become the most powerful fighter in all of Narnia, better than Peter.

He had daydreamed about taking care of the inner turmoil of Narnia single-handedly with the help of the fire-flower juice, and being chosen to become High King rather than his brother because of his valor. Yes, I'm aware that this only makes him more of the git Peter had previously labeled him as, but he didn't see it at the time.

Instead of this, all Edmund said was, "Why do you?"

For an unknown reason, because she hadn't thought much of this before, the answer was ready on Lucy's tongue. "Because I won't use it."

Despite using it was exactly what was on Edmund's mind, he said, "That's insulting! I need it to help Narnia."

Lucy waited for a moment; she couldn't help but wonder things. Her mind was spinning; she was so tired of getting bits and pieces of information. It did seem like a good time to ask for straight out answers, but when else could she? When she went to speak, she wasn't able to say this exactly. Instead, she said randomly, "How did you get it in the first place?"

"What? Oh, that. It's a really long story. I doubt people like you have the patience, nor the interest to listen to it all."

Lucy sat down on her bed, and gestured to a point across from her, saying in a low voice, "Try me."

"It's too complicated." Edmund said, for some reason sitting down anyway, "You're too young to understand it all."

"I can't be too much younger than you." Lucy protested, glancing at Edmund's good side, guessing that he was around, perhaps, fifteen, looking a little younger than Caspian.

"How old are you?" Edmund said, seemingly not buying it.

"I turned fourteen two months ago. And what about you?"

Squaring his shoulders, as if victorious, Edmund said, "I'm about a year and a half older than you."

"That's not a big age difference."

"Either way, you wouldn't understand it. Look at you. You were moved away from your home because you couldn't handle living near war grounds? You wouldn't be able to handle this either."

Lucy felt her jaw drop for a moment, before she said, "It's connected to the war?" She almost smiled, figuring that her hunch had been correct.

"Not so much the war as the corruption of Narnia." Edmund muttered darkly, reaching up to his scar and whispering, "And how I got this."

"Tell me about it." Lucy said, "Please. I need to know."

"And I need the juice!" Edmund said, raising a challenging eyebrow. "Get used to disappointment. Whether or not we actually fix things, I'm planning for all this hell just to die off along with me. That'll be a happy day."

Lucy leaned forward, "No! You can't just let what's happened die off. That's horrible, even a sin. Look, I think that everything that happens should be told, because someday, someone will want, or even need, to hear it. Like I do now."

"Why?"

"Because," Lucy said slowly, "I think I can help. And you need someone to listen to you."

Thinking about this in later years, I realized the reason that Edmund did what he did at this point; Lucy, somehow, knew part of Edmund's problem. She knew about his fear of being worthless, and his need to matter. It's a fault that tends to fuel his decisions, and pose one of his sources of shame to this very day. She was letting him know that, maybe she didn't even like him very much, but what he was going to say was important, and that he mattered.

Either way, Edmund sighed, and started his tale.


	10. Edmund's Tale Part One

Oddly enough, Edmund's story began shortly after King Caspian IX was forced out of Narnia, about two weeks after to be precise. It was summer, if Edmund recalled correctly. The evening was only just beginning to cool from the heat of the day, and Cair Paravel seemed to give off a sort of glow that could make even the most cynical person in the world believe in magic.

The two princes stood on the beach, with the setting sun sending red, orange, and pink light off the glasslike water. It had been radiating onto the previously white sand, turning it a beautiful rosy color. The fine grains of sand were so clean that they squeaked underneath their boots. The younger had a mischievous gleam in his eyes. No scar made its hideous appearance, and therefore, Edmund looked happier, and by far less troubled than he had for a fair portion of his young life. Peter was younger as well, and he too would have come off as happier if he weren't as troubled as he was.

"How about a friendly round of one-on-one?" Edmund had asked his brother; ready to lift up the swords they had taken with them. Grinning broadly, he added, "I'll go easy on you."

Peter shook his head and continually stared into the setting sun, "How can you think of games right now?"

"Easily," Edmund said, surprised at his brother's sudden seriousness. Usually Peter was up for friendly duels. Either way, he wasn't quite willing to accept no for an answer, "You know, I could always just accept your refusal as you admitting, once and for all, that I'm better with swords than you." This was meant, partially, as humorous, and partially to instigate. Peter only saw the instigation.

"Go ahead, see it that way." He spoke, beginning to turn, "Can't you see what bad relations we're in with Telmar right now? Look how upset Father's getting! We could go to war with them. And all you can think of is duels? Do you care?"

Edmund felt his nostrils flare slightly. He was more annoyed than angry with Peter at this moment. Did he really have to be so pompous about it? "What can we do?" he asked, "You're not king yet. Not by a long shot. So stop acting like it!"

"At least I'm concerned. You're just going on with everything as if nothing's wrong."

Just when Edmund opened his mouth to speak, perhaps to say that nothing was wrong, a rather distressed-looking faun came running up to them. His burgundy hair and fur blowing backward, his step thumping in the sand.

"Your highnesses!" He called out repeatedly, before coming up to them. The faun skidded momentarily sending a little wave of sand up onto their feet.

"What's wrong, Tumnus?" Peter asked, forgetting his argument with his brother.

"The king needs to see the both of you in the throne room with the rest of the army officials. He says that it's urgent."

The young princes looked at each other before taking a rather hurried climb up the cliff that Cair Paravel was set in. They knew their home very well, like the back of their hands, or like the smooth edge of their swords; the grand white walls, marble floors, and golden Lion head imprints placed throughout the red and gold designed castle. They barely needed to watch where they were going; the maids saw to it that nothing was ever out of place.

They entered their father's throne room without introduction, as was their way, and went to the center of the room, "Father?" they both said simultaneously.

King Frank looked distraught, if he were a normal man, young Edmund thought that he looked like he might cry. He knew that King Frank wouldn't. Kings, for one, never shed tears, even more rare was it to find a father who cried. Still being under the impression that father's weren't human, but some sort of invincible race, if Edmund saw his father shed tears, he would jump to the worst possible conclusion; the last time Edmund could remember his father crying was when his mother died, and he barely even saw that, his vision blurred through his own wall of tears.

"Boys," King Frank said, nodding to his sons. Then he changed his voice to a louder, more commanding one. The officials of the Narnian army knew that their king was distressed, and there was no need for the separate voice. However, it helped the king keep his head, "Things are taking a turn for the worst. As many of you already know, King Caspian of Telmar has died recently. Murdered, according to the stances the Telmarines are taking out against us. Because his son, Caspian X, is too young to rule, his brother, Miraz, has taken over the Telmarine power." He paused, allowing the review to sink into the brains of those listening, "As I feared, it appears as though they are planning to seize Ettinsmoor. I don't think we have a choice…" His tone allowed the boys to easily fill in the blanks.

A dryad soldier, with a fine moss growing on her head instead of hair, stepped forward and said, "Sire, I don't see why we must rush ourselves into this. You yourself said that you only were going to fight against Telmar if the late King Caspian attacked any of our allies, only because you respected him. Why involve yourself again?"

The king knit his brows, "I have known Lord Miraz—King Miraz, as his title is now, for a great while. I have found him just as ruthless as I found his brother respectable before our last meeting. If not only to protect our allies, I have little doubt that Narnia itself would find ourselves with an invasion on our hands."

The dryad nodded, bowing her head, and stepped back into the line of army officials lined up along the polished walls.

"Your Majesty?" A Fox stepped forward and asked, "If you intend to start a war, do we have the means to fight a country whose military is as great as Telmar?"

King Frank thought on this for a grim moment, "With help from our allies, specifically, Archenland, and even Ettinsmoor, we should be able to manage, assuming they will help us."

A nameless male youth called from the back of the throne room,"Since Telmar broke trade with Calormen, we might be able to get on the Tisroc's good side."

"Not if we can help it," King Frank said, closing the youth's mouth instantly, "The Calormenes tend to make you pay more than fair for their help. I don't want to have to do something vulgar, like sending honest Beasts to work like the common sort in Calormen, just for some help in a battle when we've got alternate options."

Edmund rocked from his heels to his toes, he was trying to listen, but for some reason, he found his mind drifting off to what supper was going to be, and zoned out for several minutes.

"Now," King Frank said, breaking Edmund out of his mashed potato filled daydream, "As I have not had such a serious possibility of conflict in a very long time, I am going to need an advisor strictly for this matter."

Edmund wondered if his father's usual advisor was the one who advised him to get another advisor. Or even if his father had a usual advisor, usually he just took all of the courtiers say in things and decided from there, but it seemed like the normal thing for a king to have an advisor. He resolved to ask his father about this later.

"Tumnus?" King Frank called out.

The faun, apparently surprised by his shaking, stepped forward, his hooves hitting the floor loudly, "Your Majesty?"

"Your father had served as an advisor to my father for the whole of his reign, the end of my grandfather's reign, and even for the beginning of my own. He was truly one of the most intelligent people I have ever met," King Frank looked, perhaps, less distressed than he had before in remembering. "Would you accept my request to become advisor, as your father was? You, yourself, seem like an excellent choice for the job."

"I'm--I am honored, your Majesty. However, I'm afraid I have to decline your offer. I'm not very much at all like my father was, really. I am more than perfectly content to remain serving Aslan, Narnia, and the **c**rown in the same way I am now." Tumnus said all this in a modest, flustered manner.

It might surprise you to hear Tumnus refused the king, so allow me to explain. In Narnia, the people still respect their monarchs as much as the next country, but court is a great deal more informal than usual. When the king asks something of you, saying that it's a request, that's really what it is; a request, not an order. When he gives you an order upfront, then it's an order. This, honestly, might be a part of the reason the Narnian royals are so popular with the people. I don't mean to brag, but Narnia has a pretty good track record for their monarchs.

"Very well," King Frank said, "But know that if you change your mind, you won't be able to change the circumstances. I'll have someone send for my second choice when this meeting gets out."

"I understand, your Majesty." Tumnus said, stepping back beside the door. Not being apart of the army, he was only in the room because he was sent for the princes, or so he thought. The poor faun was very flustered, never being good with this sort of thing.

"Father," Peter interjected, "is there a plan thus far? If there is, I need to fight, for Narnia, for Aslan, and for you."

"Kiss up." Edmund accidentally muttered, a comment that was meant to stay inside his head. Feeling the icy glares on him after saying this, he muttered, "Sorry."

"You may go." King Frank said to Edmund, this was his way for punishing his son for verbalizing his inappropriate comment. Fair enough, considering the power he had as both the boy's father and ruler.

"But, Father—"

"I said _go_, Edmund."

Looking down at his feet, embarrassed, Edmund mumbled, "Yes, sir," and trudged out of the room.

For the next few weeks, the halls of Cair Paravel were all abuzz with word of the new advisor coming in. Even those who usually didn't indulge in gossip listened and wondered about who exactly was coming to help their beloved king in the great problems that were building up at the horizon.

One of the many rumors going around said that King Frank was going to try and borrow an advisor from Archenland. However, this seemed unlikely. A rather well-known fact about King Frank was that he avoided any possibility to go into debts to other countries, even our closest allies like Archenland. Although a good ruler, he was reluctant to take any chances, it used to be that King Frank was balanced out on this scale by his wife, but since she died four years previous, Narnia had mostly stuck to the books, as if King Frank wanted his reign to go by without much notice, merely a transition from his father to his sons (it had been decided by Aslan long ago that both Peter and Edmund would rule as kings when their time came).

A second rumor circulated around in whispers, saying that their king was calling for an Ape who had once been removed from the advising post almost four generations ago, when King Frank XII discharged him for not liking his methods. That was all that was ever said about the Ape, if Edmund asked why he was discharged no one knew. If he asked anything about this rumor, it would be known that no one knew very much about it. Peter had told him to stop listening to the chambermaids' gossip and pay more attention to their tutors, but somehow, Edmund got a funny feeling about this rumor. It wasn't that it didn't seem right, but even though it seemed like a sketchy lie someone would make up for the fun of it (and Edmund knew quite a bit about sketchy lies people make up for the fun of it) it did seem like a way his father would go out. No foreign powers were involved, so therefore, no chance of going into debt for another country, and it was someone who already knew the ways of the court; it seemed like a good way to go.

However, the longer that the rumors had time to circulate, the longer they had to breathe and live, the more outlandish they became. Some said that the king was trying to find ways outside of this would and into another for help. Many rumors like this spread like some sort of virus.

"People will believe anything," Peter said once, "If they really want to know, why don't they ask Father about it?"

The two boys were sitting in the vast, golden and red library, supposedly studying. Their tutor had momentarily left the area and this gave Edmund plenty of time to fill Peter in on the craziest rumors he had heard of.

"Can you?" Edmund asked, dropping his quill onto his leather-bound notebook, resulting in a small puddle of black ink, which immediately began soaking into the paper. "Isn't it confidential?"

Peter shrugged, "He's told me, and everyone else who stayed at the military meeting. We all helped Father decide, actually."

Edmund felt his cheeks get warm; to think, if he had just kept his mouth shut he would've known what the resolve was going to do. "Then what's going on?"

Peter shrugged and closed his own notebook now that the ink had dried, "The rumor earlier about the Ape was true. It took some convincing to have Father decided on it, actually. Knowing that he had been discharged before, and all. But, it seemed like the best option when you got down to it. Since he probably knows how these things work."

Edmund raised his eyebrows, "I wonder why he got discharged in the first—"

Suddenly, their tutor, a rather beaky-looking dwarf with beady eyes and a great white beard said, "Well, I see plenty of gossip ensuing between the future kings of Narnia," he clucked his tongue in a rather annoying way to show his displeasure, "but how's your vocabulary getting on? Prince Edmund, can you tell me the definition of 'quagmire'?"

"Erm," Edmund paused, not having as much as even cracked open the dictionary, and muttered, "Isn't it, um, your surname or something?"

The dwarf turned a funny purple color under his snow-white beard. "No. Not at all." He clicked his tongue again, and Edmund resolved to count how many times he did that in one lesson, "Prince Peter? Do you know?"

After a moment of thinking, Peter wasn't too fond of vocabulary lessons either, but seemed to recall it vaguely not from his lessons, but from his father using it. He guessed, "A dangerous circumstance that you can't get yourself out of?"

At noticing the dwarf clicking his tongue in a different way, an approving way, Edmund muttered, "Well that's what I meant."

"Write it down," the tutor said, opening Edmund's notebook for him, and in seeing the ink stain, clicked his tongue.

Grudgingly, Edmund scrawled the definition on the paper, not knowing exactly what sort of quagmire he and the whole of Narnia would get themselves into.

**A/N: Drat. I need to stop ending chapters like this. It's like getting hit over the head with a baseball bat over and over again. Anyway, please review. **


	11. Edmund's Tale Part Two

Eventually the rumors sweeping across Cair Paravel came to a sudden halt. Whispers ceased, and some of the more gossipy courtiers either pouted about having nothing to talk about, or made something new up. Either way, when the new advisor was scheduled to arrive at Cair Paravel, theses rumors stopped immediately. Those who spread the rumor of the Ape at first, if they were more uppity, walked about with a self-satisfied look, and those who didn't spread that rumor went on with their lives; the intrigue level went down several hundred levels.

The day arrived when the new advisor was scheduled to come; most people were abuzz with excitement and intrigue. However, one young prince was not.

Edmund had faked dizzy spells earlier that day, in an attempt to get out of the big event that led up to meeting the Ape. Not wanting to have to stand around next to Peter all day in perfect position to being compared to his brother, hearing the courtiers' whispers. They would whisper that Peter would become a great king someday and many other comments that proved their favoritism to the first-born prince.

While lying in bed, pretending to be awfully dizzy, Edmund decided that the moment he could, he would sneak down to the kitchens and maybe get one of the cooks to give him some sweets, providing the maids didn't tell them about his "dizzy spells."

Unfortunately, he didn't get the chance to act on this plan. For, when he pretended to be dizzy in front of a maid, she went and got King Frank after telling him to lie down.

When the king entered, Edmund presumed it was another maid to take his temperature or give him breakfast, and was surprised to feel weight on the foot of his bed. Opening his eyes in slits, he was his father sitting there, a rather unimpressed look on his face.

"Edmund," the king said, "you need to stop playing sick every time there's something you don't want to do."

"How did you know?" Edmund asked, sitting up in bed. There was no use in lying to the king, even though he was fairly sure he could get away with it if he tried. Although, he was surprised, here he had thought he did a pretty good job faking sick; he'd even managed to fake a fever by lying on the foot of his bed, nearer his fireplace.

King Frank chuckled, "Because you're like me. I can't tell you how many times I faked sick trying to get out of some meeting when I was a prince. I wasn't, and I'm still not, too fond of obligations. Yet, my positions in life force me to have them, just as yours do and will continue to for the rest of your life."

Even with something as little and not too complimentary as this, Edmund was rather thrilled about it. To be called like his father, by his father was something he never thought he'd hear. Many considered him just Prince Edmund, the second-born, and none too important, but his father told him that they were alike, and it was enough to fuel his pride for a very long time.

"Well, that's not fair. I'm stuck with this for the rest of my life." Edmund mumbled, crossing his arms at his chest and slouching in the bed. "Does Peter have a problem with it?"

"No," the king said, "People like your brother, and your mother was this way as well, have the mindset of just doing things, even if they don't want to do it, and getting them over with. People like us, on the other hand, try to postpone it until the last minute or just get out of it. We're obligated to obligations."

"But," Edmund said after a moment, "you don't try to get out of things."

"I've had practice, years of it. You have to put the good of Narnia over your personal comfort zone sometimes. You'll see when you're king. But in the meantime, you might as well get used to it." He clapped his hand on his son's knee and turned to leave the room, just before he left entirely he called over his shoulder, "Because you've dismissed the maid, I'll have to leave you to get yourself ready, Aslan forbid." He winked, showing that he was jesting, before he turned and disappeared into the bright hallway.

Surprisingly enough, Edmund was able to keep full attention to his father's long-winded speech just before meeting the new advisor. Perhaps it was because of their talk. Either way, he was able to listen for the entire forty-five minutes. The speech was fairly strong, speaking about making the right decisions during hard times, and how he was only getting an advisor, that he'd still be the one making the decisions, and finally how they all had to hold strong. The last part was rather ominous, but overall, the speech was very good. Either the entire court was enthralled by it, or the entire court were notably good actors and actresses.

The speech ended, a few courtiers applauded softly, others nodded in agreement, and all waited, unsure of what would happen next.

Suddenly, the doors opened, and down the aisle limbered an enormous, ugly, wrinkled Ape. Dressed in an ill-fitting scarlet jacket, he looked absolutely ridiculous. (Talking Beasts, as a rule, don't wear clothes.) Edmund, so surprised by the hideousness and ridiculousness of this Ape, burst into a coughing fit.

Peter, faintly as possible, slapped his brother on the back to cease the coughing. "Quiet down," he whispered, not unkindly.

Just as the Ape passed where the princes were standing, Edmund could have sworn he saw a menacing flash in the Ape's eyes, directed at him.

"That's the new advisor?" Edmund whispered back; just as the Ape began his own speech about what it was like to be back in the Narnian capitol, serving the king again, and how he hoped to help. It was a bit overdone, Edmund thought. This Ape clearly didn't follow the same methods of lying that he did.

Peter nodded, "His name is Shift."

"Look at him!" Edmund said, going on to emphasize how ugly the Ape was, trying to get to the point that something that old couldn't possibly be smart enough to advise their father, all in hushed tones.

Peter rolled his eyes slightly, and whispered again, "Regardless, they say he's very clever." Waiting a moment, he muttered in a tone so low that Edmund could barely hear, "I don't think this is a very good idea anymore." Suspicion arose like clouds in the prince's azure eyes.

In less than a week, a large group of knights were sent to battle. They attacked a regiment of Telmarine soldiers on the border of Ettinsmoor. Although this was meant to show what Narnians were fighting for, it actually gave the Telmarines more to go on with that Narnians were barbarians. Which, by the way, was an insult they stole from Calormen. It used to only be the Calormenes calling us barbarians, and now we got the Telmarines calling us that too.

In shorter time even than it took to get the knights to attack, war was declared. It was unsure exactly who declared war with whom, but it makes more sense to think the Telmarines did, considering they were the ones who just got attacked. The one thing that was completely certain was that the two countries were now at war.

King Frank made an address to the Narnian people almost exactly when war was declared. Standing on a tall stage, King Frank looked, at least to those who knew him the best, like he desperately needed the sun that that day provided. He told them that they were going to war, that all knights living throughout Narnia were to report to Cair Paravel to either be used on the front lines or as protectors to the people. Towards the middle of the address, King Frank brought up a new tax. Edmund was rather shocked; they had more than enough money in the treasury to begin with for a war. He put it in the back of his mind, figuring that they just needed more money to fight a country as advanced as Telmar.

What was even more surprising, was that King Frank said nothing whatsoever about an advisor, nothing even remotely along the lines of even having one. He also omitted their attack on the Telmarines. It was as if he was trying to keep the citizens in the dark.

"What is he doing?" Peter asked from where he and Edmund were standing towards the back of the stage his father was giving the address on.

"Giving a speech." Edmund said back. The two brothers were both experts at whispering to one another without moving their mouths.

"I can see that." Peter mumbled, "Do you remember that Father wasn't at supper last night?"

"Yeah, what of it?"

"He was in his office, writing his speech. After we ate, I went up, and looked over it at his request, gave my two-cents, you know, that sort of thing."

"And?" Edmund was fighting the urge to move his lips and talk a little louder, but knowing that he could get in trouble, like grounded for two weeks trouble, if he got caught disrupting something this important.

"It wasn't anything like this! There wasn't anything about taxes or anything in it. Added to that, are you hearing all this stuff he's leaving out? Like how we've attacked—"

"I know. I'm not stupid." Edmund mumbled.

"Sorry," Peter said, more annoyed than sorry, "but all that was in here. Why did he change it?"

Edmund didn't know, but didn't have a chance to verbalize this, because the address ended and a young girl yelled from the crowd to Peter, asking him what his favorite color is.

XXXXXXXXX

Battles ensued on the borders of the countries involved, and groups of knights and soldiers were sent throughout the country for safety and other various reasons.

Edmund noticed several things changing, the new taxes seemed to bring in no money at all, and yet they were collected. Groups of Wolves and Crows came to the castle, apparently working as police for Cair Paravel now that the knights were being used for the war.

Neither prince saw very much of their father those days, he was always in meetings, or his office, needing to be left undisturbed. Once, while thinking about this, Edmund was surprised to realize that he had barely even seen the advisor either. Probably for the best, Edmund thought, still having superficial issues with what the Ape looked like.

One day, the king made an announcement to his boys over breakfast. Breakfast was the one part of the day his sons could always count on seeing him, sometimes he wasn't there for tea or for supper, but he was always there in the early morning. He told them that a group of elite archers from the Lone Islands were coming to help with the war. "And," he added, "their governor's daughter, the Lady Susan, is coming along with them."

Both boys looked up from their plates of scrambled eggs, although for very different reasons. Peter had long-since begun to like girls in a more than passing way, and was willing to admit it. Edmund, on the other hand, looked up because there was a possibility that this Lady Susan might help him raid the kitchens or pull harmless pranks on maids or courtiers, either that, or be a good person to pull harmless pranks on.

"She's around your ages," the king said, "almost exactly in between. I thought it might be a good idea if you boys made nice with her. She's here for the war effort, mostly, but I could hardly imagine a governor's daughter wanting to live in the tents with the others when she's used to better things. They should be coming any time now, so be sure to be ready for them."

When the archers arrived, a few weeks after this, both Edmund and Peter were, surprisingly, ready. Looking amongst the archers, Edmund found that they turned out mostly to be a group of tall, skinny men equipped with any assortment of longbows or even crossbows attached over their shoulders. At the head of this group was the most striking girl, who was introduced as the Lady Susan.

Even Edmund, who was by far more interested in duels and swords than he was in girls, had to admit that she was beautiful as well. If you've ever put something that catches the light in an attractive way in front of a baby, you'll know the sort of pathetic affect Susan's entrance had for Edmund.

Peter was able to speak with Susan easier than his brother, and they seemed to already have a sort of courtly intrigue between one another. However, the eldest prince jumbled his speech quite a bit more often than he otherwise would have, proving that he was also somewhat distracted by her face.

They had an enormous feast that night. Lady Susan sat nearest the princes, and exchanged light conversation with them. At one point, however, she was caught looking for a moment, with a confused and rather snobbish look on her face, at Shift. The Ape was, once again, dressed in an ill-fitting, garish jacket, and was piling nuts into his cheeks in a rather appalling way.

"That was my first reaction, too." Edmund confided in the lady. He had long since got over the initial surprise he had found in her face, and was then trying to figure out if she was the sort of girl he'd like to spend his time with.

"Excuse me?" Lady Susan asked, raising an eyebrow. Obviously trying to cover up that she'd been staring. So she was the sort of girl who tried to be grown-up at all times, even when caught red-handed doing something as childish as staring. Not the best quality, but everyone had been guilty of it at one time or another.

"Oh, never mind." Edmund mumbled.

"So," Peter cut in, "Susan, are you an archer as well as the men sent in?"

"Yes," Susan said, after swallowing her tiny bit of supper she had put onto her fork. She was a dainty eater as well. "My father sent me along to help with specific commands unique to us until your commanders learn them. Did I hear incorrectly?"

"I'm not sure," Peter shrugged, "As far as I know, that should be about right. I haven't heard of them wanting you to do any more than that..."

"Are you a good shot?" Edmund somewhat interrupted, not understanding why Peter nearly slapped himself in the forehead.

Although it's humble, and typically better thought of to shrug questions like this off, if you were raised the was Susan was, having constantly being told of your talents and beauty, constantly having your ego stroked, humility wouldn't necessarily be your strong suit either. "Yes," she said. "Our entire group of archers is said to be the best of them all."

"Would you show us?" Peter asked, "After supper, I mean."

"All right," Susan said, nodding.

After the supper ended, the three youths went out into the apple orchard, Susan had her bow and quiver of arrows in tow. The sun was still fairly high in the sky; it being one of the longest days of the year, and the air was heavy and warm. One could smell the sweet apples in the air. If it were just Peter and himself there, Edmund would have rolled up his sleeves, but with Susan there it would have been vastly frowned upon.

"Can you hit that tree over there?" Edmund pointed clear across the orchard. "If you can't," he joked, "we're in trouble."

Susan seemed to understand Edmund's humor and smiled slightly, whether or not she found his joke funny is a mystery to this day. "Don't worry. I can hit a tree easily."

Peter cut in, "Why don't you choose your own target, Susan? Then you can show us what you can do."

Shrugging, Susan nodded, and looked about. Something caught her eyes to the left, and she pulled her bow. For a moment or two she concentrated, biting into her lower lip slightly, before slowly relaxing her jaw. Finally, she let go of the string, and the thin arrow whizzed about the air.

"You hit…another tree." Edmund was a little disappointed; here he had thought she'd shoot something interesting and impressive.

"Go and get a closer look," Susan said, seemingly pleased with herself.

It was Peter who actually took the steps forward, towards the tree several meters away. When he got to it, he took a moment to examine it, before he let out a loud, sudden laugh. "Did you do that on purpose? Or was it a lucky trick?"

Susan shook her head, "I just learned it, actually. I didn't think it was possible until I'd done it; it didn't make sense until I'd sat down and thought about it. But, really, it's just pinpointing your aim exactly, and timing's a big part of it too. It's all in the logic."

"What'd she do?" Edmund asked, reminding the older two that he was standing there, left completely in the dark.

Peter had walked up to the others by this time, and said to his brother, "She's brilliant, Ed. She shot a fly! And, even if that isn't impressive enough, it flew away. She pinned a fly to a tree without killing it!"


	12. Edmund's Tale Part Three

Even though she tried to act grown up a great deal too much and spent way too much time in front of the mirror in the morning, Susan proved to be a decent companion for the princes. That is, when she wasn't helping the lieutenants and generals learn the specific commands that the archers from the Lone Islands were accustomed to. In this area, at least, she succeeded in coming off older, giving off the commands for the spindly men twice her age to obey. Such strange commands they were too, Susan would rarely actually verbalize when she wanted the archers to fire. More often, she'd give a succession of whistles, or she'd click her tongue to the roof of her mouth, and the archers knew exactly what these meant. The entire group of archers was just as impressive with the bow as Susan was, although most of those archers would kill the flies they hit. Added to that, they could even pin someone's sleeve to a tree or their shoes to the ground without snagging the skin. It all seemed rather fantastic.

When she wasn't doing this, Susan would spend time with Peter and Edmund; conversing, playing chess, or occasionally watching them spar with their swords. She took part in their lessons as well; she succeeded in showing up both princes up in vocabulary (evidentially, "gastrovascular" doesn't mean the worst game ever invented). However, Lady Susan got just as much criticisms from the tutor as she got praise, not that she was stupid by any means, it's only that the methods the tutor tended to use didn't work with Susan, and she couldn't remember much of the lessons. On the bright side, it gave Edmund a break from constantly being chided by their tutor.

"I really think that Quags is out to get us sometimes," Edmund said to her once while they were on their way out of the library.

"Quags?" Susan echoed. "That's not his name."

"Long story," Edmund muttered, he had forgotten for a moment who he was talking to; Susan now probably figured more so than ever that he was just an immature little boy. However, he did continue to explain, "See, he asked me the definition of 'quagmire' once…"

"You mean a dangerous circumstance?"

Blowing out of his mouth abruptly, Edmund said in exasperation, "Was I the only person in Narnia who didn't know that?"

Shrugging Susan said, "Possibly."

"Well, anyway, I just haven't cared enough to learn his real name, so I just call him Quags when he isn't around."

Susan scoffed. "Don't you think that's a little low? So, what? When you meet someone and don't really care who they are, you give them a moniker?"

"A _what_?"

"A nickname."

"Why didn't you just say that?" Edmund asked, he already knew from lessons that she knew more vocabulary, did she have to use words he didn't know in conversation? They were friends, of course, but just as all friends have their issues with one another, Susan and Edmund were no exception.

Edmund continued, "But, yeah. That's pretty much it."

Looking past Susan's rolling eyes, Edmund saw his father coming up to them. King Frank was beginning to look older than he was, already being a bit older than the average father with sons aged twelve and ten.

"Lady Susan," the king said, "I need to borrow my son for a while."

Susan nodded politely, "Of course, your Majesty." She curtsied and walked the opposite way.

After she retreated out of earshot, Edmund turned towards his father, "What's up?"

"I've got a major conflict in my schedules. The ambassador from Archenland is here, and I have to settle a few things with him about our alliance, so I have to ask you to oversee a meeting for me."

"Me?" Edmund blinked. "What do I do?"

"Just listen in to what Shift says, if you disagree with something, mention it. Call the meeting to a close if you need to. But I don't think you'll need to. Don't worry, son, you'll know what to do."

Edmund set off almost immediately, after he bid his father good-bye, to a part of the castle he scarcely ever went to. The halls were still as shining as ever, and the lush rugs padded his footsteps as he walked. There were several doors at the end of the long hallway, one at the very end and one on either side.

He paused; thinking that if all went well, he could possibly be made the main overseer of these meetings. If he were, then maybe he'd be recognized for what he could do. Perhaps you've noticed the fact that King Frank seemed to recognize Edmund and give the young boy attention. The thing was, Edmund simply didn't notice at the time. He was so enveloped with the idea of doing something to get recognized; he scarcely noticed when he was.

When he stepped into the meeting he found that all voices ceased immediately. Noticing the prince standing in the doorway, most of the officers stood out of respect.

The room was darker, and a bit fierier than Edmund would have preferred. In fact, the only light from the room was given, not through windows as would have been nicer on a summer's day, but from a hot fire on the far end of the room. It was already unreasonably hot in most parts of the castle, why did this room have a fire blazing?

Shadows danced along the walls, and here Edmund noticed that what he thought were shadows before, were really Wolves. Wolves were lining the walls, sitting up like perfect statues. Another question materialized in Edmund's brain; why were there Wolves there?

"My father sent me here to oversee the meeting," Edmund said, a bit uncomfortable with the heat, "Erm, I guess you should get on with it."

Taking a seat at the foot of the table where most of the officers were sitting, Edmund waited for the meeting to resume. If he hadn't been so personally filled with hopeful anxiety, he might have noticed how troubled the officers and assorted nobility in the meeting were, or the look of vengeance on Shift's face.

The Ape snapped back from his deathly gaze on Edmund, "This tonic I've sent in for, and what I mean by this, of course, is that King Frank's sent for, will make the Narnian army the strongest of them all. There will be no way to lose."

Because Edmund had gone through phases of his life, off again and on again, of being a liar, he was rather good at figuring out when someone was lying. However, this didn't seem like a complete lie. It seemed to Edmund that there was simply something that Shift was omitting or adding.

"And what were you saying earlier about the Telmarine-Narnians?" A mustached officer said to Shift.

"The Telmarines living in Narnia, pretending to be citizens of this country, are a terrible menace to the Narnians. Giving messages to the Telmarines and all that. The only option I—I mean, the king, sees fit is to relocate them to camps, where they will work for their keep. We'll have oranges and bananas, and saddles and cages and everything."

"No," Edmund had to fight to keep from shouting, finding that he couldn't, and also finding himself stepping out of his personal comfort zone for Narnia. It was a bit strange for him to be this bold, however, he could see how unjust this was, and had to say something about it. "My father would never want anything like that. He wouldn't even stand for taking innocent people to work like slaves for no reason!"

"Stupid littleboy! What would you know of these matters at all?" Shift yelled in a way that nearly made Edmund step back in a shocked fashion, but then recovered himself in an eerie way, "It isn't slavery, more like a free enterprise system. If they are not giving messages to the Telmarines, if they truly want to be Narnians (which is doubtful) let them work for the name of Narnia. But it's not the point, since they're hardly even people, either way."

"Hardly even people? No! They're people, just like anyone else here! What you're saying is that you want to put the whole of the minority of Telmarine-Narnians in prison camps, just to work for you! First Telmarine-Narnians, which is incredibly wrong in the first place, but then who'd be next? The Talking Beasts? The Dryads and Naiads? The fauns or centaurs? Or even the humans? This is disgusting. I can't sit here any more, meeting's dismissed!"

Everyone remained in their seats for a moment, and no one spoke. Not a single person in the room had expected Edmund to make such a speech; it was rather shocking, although they might have assumed something similar out of Peter. But then, everyone sprang to life, immediately scrambling from the room. They left partially because of their prince's intense change from the Prince Edmund they knew, and partially because they began to see the Wolves come to their feet, the fur on their necks on end, baring their teeth.

Edmund turned around once everyone was gone, intending to leave and report this injustice to this father. Just as he stepped towards the door, the Wolves circled in around him, leaving him unable to pass. He felt himself sweating more than he was from simply the heat.

"M-make them stand down," Edmund said, his voice a great deal shakier than he preferred it to be. (And, he did exclude this little detail when telling all this to Lucy, preferring it to be a secret how scared he really was.)

"You know nothing next to me," the Ape said, the shadows from the fire making him look more wrinkled and even uglier than ever, "I have lived for so long, and therefore I am so wise—"

"It's not age that makes you wise," Edmund started, remembering at least one useful thing from his lessons. "It's what you know. And I know that sending the Telmarine-Narnians to work camps is unjust and wrong."

"You impudent youth!" the Ape hissed, "You speak of justice, but know nothing about it at all. However, if it's what you want," a terrible smile curved on Shift's ugly lips, and the Wolves circled in closer, "You'll have justice done onto you."

About a hundred reasons why this was the exact opposite of anything just came into Edmund's mind, but he didn't have the time to dwell on them. From hidden places in the domed ceiling, ten Crows swooped down and hung above the ground, wings flapping soundlessly in the hot air.

Subconsciously, Edmund reached for his sword, only to remember that he didn't have it. Improvising, he gripped the chair behind him, and flung it towards the Wolf at the head of the group.

The Wolf flew backwards, but was on his feet a moment later, showing no signs of injury. The Crows now dived at him, pecking at him with beaks that felt like knives. Over and over again, the claws on their feet dug into his skin, as they proceeded to peck at him. Edmund was left with covering his eyes with one hand, and attempting to swat them away blindly. .

Suddenly, he was on his back, with an enormous gray Wolf on his stomach. The thing weighed too much for Edmund to move him, but that didn't mean that he didn't try. He tried to stand up, to push the Wolf off him, but he found that his spine would crack if he did so. He, instead, tried to pull the Wolf off him with his arms. Instead of any sort of relief, he heard a sharp bark, and felt an even sharper pain in his neck; it was nearly enough pain to stop his breathing. The Wolf had bit him. He felt blood drain down his neck, and begin to dry in the hot atmosphere, just as the smell of iron filled his nostrils.

Finding his vision go hazy, Edmund couldn't see who did the next thing to him, but he could guess. Feeling an incredibly sharp pain under his eye, he felt as if someone was slicing a knife through it. All this time he had been trying not to scream or cry, but he found himself doing both when whoever cut him pulled his flesh apart, resulting in a large open wound. There was too much blood this time to dry in the heat, so it held wet, and the deepest red one could ever see.

Now, he was certain who did the next part, even if he was unsure who cut him, he felt the incredible pain of fire taking his cheek; burning flesh smells worse when you know it's your flesh. Somehow, he managed to roll onto his stomach, throwing off the Wolf, and blot out the fire with his hands. His hands had already beginning to blister and burn, but he didn't stop until the fire was still. He looked at his hands, his dizzy vision coming back, and saw that they were completely raw. In seeing this, what his body had subconsciously been telling him all this time was confirmed, and exhaustion was just about to take him.

All of this should have killed him, but it wasn't his time to die. Instead of dying, he found the smells of burning skin, blood, and fire overwhelming, added to the blood he lost, he found that as soon as his head hit the ground, everything went black.

XXXXXXXXXX

The room had gone silent for a moment; Edmund stared into the tamed fire in the fireplace of Lucy's bedchamber. The present day came flooding back to him; he was fifteen and hadn't been in Cair Paravel since he was ten. Narnia was in the worst shape ever. He couldn't quite decide if he'd prefer to be in the past, only not where he had just been, or where he was currently.

He had just told Lucy how he had got his scar. He hadn't told anyone of this before, not even Peter or Susan. Why had he told Lucy? She just wanted to know what his purpose was with the fire-flower, didn't she? He, rather reproachfully, looked at the girl across from him on the mattress.

"Oh, Edmund!" Lucy finally said, finding herself near tears when she was told of this; it was all too terrible. She fought back the urge to grab onto his hand, having the feeling that he would simply push it away. In the past five minutes, while her sympathy for Edmund increased a great deal, her respect did too. All he had stood up for, justice and what's right, were very admirable things in Lucy's eyes, and they completely made up for Edmund's attitude towards her earlier. Only from listening to his story, she felt as though she had gotten to know someone that was still inside Edmund, but refused to come out. The entire scene was so graphic, however, that Lucy could barely take it in without cringing or crying. "That's horrible."

"You're telling me." Edmund muttered, deciding that he didn't like remembering; there were times when he felt as though he could still feel it all. "But, you know, it's been awhile. I wouldn't dwell on it if I were you. It just gets people upset. You'd think that I would've learned to keep my mouth shut."

"What do you mean?"

"It's never done much good, has it?" Edmund leaned backward onto the pillow. "What is this? It feels like goose down."

"If you don't mind my saying," Lucy said, "I think it did a little good. Please don't look at me like that; you've had five years to mull it over. Surely in that time you must've thought about all the people you've saved. I mean, you've kept something horrible from happening to a lot of people for a very long time."

Blowing out, somewhat bitterly, Edmund said, "And I've been waiting for the _coup de grace _ever since."

"The deathblow?" Lucy asked, blankly. She recalled Aunt Polly teaching her the phrase once, when it had come up in something she had read once; she had never quite liked the phrase.

"Well, that's what it means, isn't it? Anyway, do you want to keep getting sidetracked, or do you want me to finish the story?"

Really, Lucy wanted to know more about why Edmund was acting the way he did, but she felt as though she would learn it better if she just let him finish. After all, she had figured out this much so far, and he was obviously trying to change the subject. She couldn't help but feel sorry for him; it must have been so hard for him to remember all that. At last, she sighed and said, "Go on, then."

"All right, Red. Sit tight, since it gets pretty fast after this."

"Oh, but Edmund?" Lucy asked, remembering a bit from earlier in the story that now seemed more important than it had before. "My name's Lucy."

Lowering an eyebrow, Edmund said slowly, as if she were in need of mental help, "I know."

Lucy's voice was low, and her spirits were sinking even lower, as she mumbled, "Oh."


	13. Edmund's Tale Part Four

Edmund's story resumed itself when he came back to consciousness. He had opened his eyes slowly, sore and swollen all over. Finding that his eye itched, he reached up to do so, but found it completely bandaged up. Then the previous events came flooding back to his mind. Not wanting to allow himself to cry, he reminded himself over and over again how much he hated the Ape. He didn't know what sort of shape he was in, but he wasn't able to move his head, he noticed. There seemed to be a sort of bandage around that as well. Staring directly above him, Edmund found that he was lying on a bed with a sort of tall, velvet canopy. No, he realized, he was lying on his bed, in his room. However, this realization didn't bring him much comfort. Sighing abruptly, he was surprised to hear the older, girl's voice from a few meters off.

"Peter! He's awake!" Susan's voice carried into, what seemed to be, another room. The sitting room, perhaps? Or otherwise the dressing room. Slowly, she came into view, standing by the bedside. Her dark was hair up and pinned into a maroon hairnet. She looked as neat as ever, but there was something cloudy and disturbed underneath her eyes.

"How long was I out?" Edmund asked weakly.

Peter came in and stood by Edmund's bedside opposite Susan. "Three hours," he said, "maybe four."

"It's kind of shocking that you weren't out for longer than that," Susan cut in. "The physician said it could be anything from a few hours being knocked out to complete comatose."

"She thought you were dead when she found you." Peter said, leaning a little farther over the bed to get a closer look of his brother.

"She found me?" Edmund asked, thinking himself rather stupid for not thinking of how he got here in the first place.

Peter nodded. "See, when you were off in the meeting, Susan and I saw something that we thought you should know about. We guessed that you might not be as safe as it seemed."

"You think?" Edmund's voice was colder than he wanted it to be, but he recovered himself. "And then?"

"Well," Peter said, "I didn't think you'd take very kindly, or even listen at all, if I came in and tried to excuse you from the meeting. So I sent Susan in, and well, she came in and you were face down…in a puddle of blood."

Susan bit her lip, as if trying to keep the vision of it from entering her brain ever again. However, she did go on. "For a moment, the physician even thought you were dead, but then he checked your pulse," she said. "The king went from miserable to absolutely furious in thirty seconds."

If Edmund could move his head, he would have nodded. "And what about the Ape? Did Father discharge that _thing_?"

"Discharge him? Why?" Susan sat down on a nearby stool and ticked her head to the side.

Peter wrinkled his brow, "He only got in trouble for hurting you so badly. And that was more like a slap on the wrist."

"A slap on the wrist? Are you kidding?" Speaking slowly, to be sure that they could understand, Edmund said, "He. Tried. To. Kill. Me."

"So that's what happened?" Peter asked, sending a strange look over to Susan, who didn't see him, as she was looking the other way, towards Edmund.

"What did you think happened? That he asked me to tea?"

Peter narrowed his eyes, the harshness of his brother's tone coming as a surprise at this point, "No. But, there are stories going around…"

"Oh, isn't that just brilliant. What did he say?"

"Well," Susan said slowly, now locked in a tense stare with Peter, "you have to understand that it does make a little sense—"

Peter added to this, trying to muffle any confusion, "You have been known to be rather…impulsive."

Rather impatient at this point, not appreciating their attempts at softening the blow, Edmund repeated, "What did he say?" Turning his head to get a clearer look at his brother, he realized how injured his neck really was. Immediate pain seared through his neck, and the vein where he had been bitten began to throb underneath the bandages. "Ow."

Giving in, Peter sighed. "Just don't shoot the messenger. He said, and it's already circulated to all of the courtiers, that you went ballistic when he informed everyone of a war strategy, forced everyone out of the room, and demanded a duel."

"Do I look stupid enough to demand a duel from an Ape who could probably tear me apart with his hands if he wanted?" After a moment, Edmund exhaled, and muttered, "Don't answer that."

A good half hour was spent with Edmund telling the others what he had protested to in the meeting. He didn't tell either of them what happened exactly, he wasn't ready for anyone to know exactly how he got wounded. He, actually, had kept that inside him until he told Lucy five years later.

"Well," Peter said, "you are right on that; Father would never do something like that.

"The thing that's really getting to me," Susan paused, and wrinkled her brow, "is how Shift said that Telmarine-Narnians weren't even people. How does he figure that?"

"Beats me," Edmund mumbled. "But as soon as I get out of this bed, I'm going over to Father and telling him what really happened. He's bound to believe me over some Ape, isn't he?"

Due to his injuries, he had to stay in bed for almost a week. He kept on getting dizzy when he tried to stand, courtesy of the Wolf. However, besides under his eye and his neck, the rest of his injuries were rather minor, so he was able to get out of bed while he still had a bandage over his eye.

Peter, Susan, and Edmund were in the gardens on a particularly sunny day, walking through the shrubbery. Edmund stayed a few good paces behind the older of the two. His eye had begun to itch dreadfully, but he couldn't take the bandage of just yet. They sat down on stone benches towards the opening of the garden after coming back in.

"Doesn't it bother you?" Edmund asked, after a moment of silence, save for birdsong.

"Does what?" Peter asked, only halfway looking at his brother, otherwise soaking up the warm sunlight on his face.

"I get attacked by Wolves, we haven't seen Father since that day at all, and we're just out in the gardens?"

"Actually," Peter mumbled, looking back at his brother, "I've seen Father, and I told him what you said."

"Of course," Edmund mumbled under his breath. "And?"

"He didn't seem to believe me much," Peter's cheeks tinged pink, "But he said that he'd get it sorted. Trust him, Ed."

Feeling his entire body tense up, Edmund said, defensively, "Then explain why there are still Wolves and Crows all over the bloody place."

"It might take awhile to get them all removed. There isn't much you can do right now." Susan remarked, turning away from Peter over her shoulder. "Besides, you could use the fresh air. We all could, actually."

"It's not like there isn't air inside." Edmund grumbled, digging his heel into the dirt.

Shaking his head, Peter sighed, "You're too impatient. Relax."

Susan added in gently, "You've been locked up in the ivory tower too long."

"It's actually polished marble," Edmund muttered, as if it made all the difference. Suddenly, he looked up, and from the balcony, he saw his father walk passed. He hadn't seen his father since he had been knocked out, and it excited him. Hoping that if he could talk to his father himself, he could get him to fully discharge the Ape, if he wasn't going to already. "Hey, guys? Don't wait up," he said as he quickly left the gardens.

He walked with as much dignity as a ten-year-old with a serious facial injury and whispers from most of the courtiers ensuing behind his back could muster. The fact that the Ape had said those lies about him only fueled negative rumors about the youngest prince. He walked himself, chin held high, until he came near the door of the throne room. Here, he noticed that just outside, Wolves sat, in that same straight, guarding way the last time he saw them. Or, at least it seemed so; some were pacing back and forth, serving as menacing sentries either way.

With his good eye, Edmund saw exactly which Wolf had bitten his neck; the largest of the crop, with a gray coat, sleek with his summer fur.

Slowly, he backed away, settling behind a bright pillar, and worked to devise a new plan. It appeared that Peter hadn't been right; King Frank did certainly not have it sorted, and Edmund was going to figure out why.

Most castles are designed to make walls of the more political rooms as soundproof as possible, but there was a simple flaw in Cair Paravel's design. The balcony near the throne room was so near the window that if one put their ear up to the bricks, one could hear everything happening in said room.

Edmund made a quick dash down the hall, lingering in the shadows, as it was a clear glance from the doors of the throne room onto the balcony. As quickly as he could, being partially blinded, Edmund stood up on the smooth railing, willing himself not to drop onto the cliffs below. He had done this several times before, mostly if Peter had gotten in trouble, and knew partially what he was doing. Shrinking to the farthest place of the railing, so not to be seen, and so that he could successfully eavesdrop, he placed his ear as close as he could to the window.

"Of all the villains!" Edmund heard his father exclaim, followed by several phrases that added several improper words to the young boy's vocabulary. "You wouldn't dare!"

"Wouldn't I?" the Ape said. Edmund could imagine the hideous smile curved onto his lips, not unlike when he had signaled the Wolves and Crows to attack him. "You cannot hide him, and you know it. However, as long as you cooperate, there's no reason to cut young Prince Edmund's life short."

"Are you saying, that as long as I allow myself to act as a marionette, and you as the puppetmaster, you will keep both Edmund and Peter alive?"

Edmund felt his stomach drop, was his father doing what he thought he was going to do, for his life? Was it even worth that much? He had the feeling that the Ape nodded, because the King continued.

"And what of all of Narnia?"

"Are you saying that you would rather be the king of Narnia over a father to your motherless sons?" the Ape said, in that horrible voice. "If that's so, I'll be sure to arrange something for them."

"No!" the king cried out, distressed and as pulled apart as a person could be.

"Then?"

Very well," the king said, in a tone that Edmund had never heard before, and would never want to hear. It was the voice, not of the King Frank everyone knew, but of an old man in complete and utter defeat. "You wish to take it out of the Army's resources for yourself personally?"

"Exactly." The Ape remarked, in a terrible voice that carried far, revealing what he was feeling: victory. "Exactly that."

**A/N: Short chapter…oh well. Please review, I want to know what you thought of it! **


	14. Edmund's Tale Part Five

In returning to Peter and Susan in the sitting room of Peter's bedchamber, Edmund retold all he had heard, this time not omitting a single detail. His knuckles were a chalky white, and his throat was dry from anxiety.

They all remained quiet; no one knew what to say. They all were in shock. Their king, leader, and, in Peter and Edmund's case, father had gone into submission, had willingly become a puppet, for the sake of his sons. The entire situation was extremely terrifying.

"It's unlikely," Susan broke the silence after a while, "but I think I might have an idea what the king is ordering from the army's care to give to Shift. The general was talking about it last week. Apparently, there was this substance found that's supposed to be a combination of the juice of the fire-flower, which legends say has magical properties, and some chemical combination…again, I doubt most of it's true…"

"I think I remember something about that," Peter said thoughtfully, "it's supposed make the drinker stronger, isn't it? Edmund used it for an assignment a while back."

"And I got clicked at for it," Edmund grumbled, arms knit at his chest.

Peter stood, leaning on the window, facing the shimmering water of the sea below. "Either way. That probably means that Shift is going to try to use it to make himself stronger, more powerful—"

"As if he needed that at all." Edmund muttered.

"It's got to be up to us now." Peter turned from the window to face his companions. "We have to protect them, Father and everyone else in Narnia."

"Peter," Susan said slowly, "just think about what you're saying. Just for a minute. They have enormous numbers and power. Look at what they've done to Edmund. Do you really think that the three of us can face all of them?"

"Edmund was alone and unarmed," Peter countered.

"Even in theory," Susan said, hands on her waist. "It's virtually impossible. Even if it was just one pack of Wolves or one murder of Crows up against us; they'd still have more people fighting than we would. It'd only be the three of us!"

"But think of what we have amongst the three of us. Susan, you're the best archer I've ever seen, certainly the best in all of Narnia. And I'm fair with swords, but Edmund's got way more raw talent than I do. If we plan it out exactly, I think we stand a chance."

"Yeah, with three weapons and our brains, all we'll need is a holocaust cloak, and we're bound to defeat them all." Edmund's first remark hung in the air, but even as he said this, the wheels in his head began to turn. He reached up and undid the bandages he had left on him. For the first time, revealing his hideous scar, fresh and still somewhat puffy. It was an appalling sight, but, as he had hoped, he was able to see clearly out of both eyes.

However, despite Susan's objections and Edmund's sarcasm, the three set to work. They thought through the memorized corridors, picking out the quickest ones to travel through. They thought through as many possible scenarios that they could. Susan would always bring up this or that detail that the boys forgot about in their planning. However, because they had no idea if their hunch on the juice was correct, nor where it would be kept, they were kept from actually planning any farther than basic theory.

Susan had been sent to find out if what the Ape wanted was, in fact, the juice. Her other responsibility was to discover when and exactly where it would be taken. Everything was kept in records, and it would only be a matter of looking at the records.

"Of course that's easier said than done," Susan had said, although there was doubt in this. No one would suspect someone with such an impeccable reputation, proper disposition, and pleasing face to be up to any sort of mischief. It is apart of one's nature never to suspect the pretty ones.

Peter's job was trickier. He had to waltz down to the armory and find swords for himself and Edmund (Susan already had her bow and arrows with her). The main thing for him to worry about was being seen and questioned as to why he was carrying about two swords for no apparent reason. However, even if he was seen, people respected him enough not to ask, so it was pointless to worry. If it were Edmund with this job, he suspected that he would have been questioned, or at least given some looks.

Edmund hadn't been given a job, other than to sit about and wait. He wasn't terribly happy with this arrangement, but if he was seen doing anything remotely suspicious, it could mean the end for him, eternally. It was strange to think of that. One slip up, if someone alerted Shift, for anything, it could possibly mean the end for him. He was sure that the Ape wouldn't keep his word that, as long as King Frank did as he was told, that the princes were to remain safe. He was positive that it was a lie to get power.

They gathered around in the sitting room inside Edmund's quarters, near midnight, going over their plan yet again. The juice of the fire-flower, as it had turned out they were right in guessing, had been moved into a storage space under the castle almost an hour ago. The space used to be used as a dungeon, before they stopped using dungeons in Cair Paravel, exchanging imprisonment for jails in the cities.

"This plan," Susan said, rubbing her temples, "will never work. It's barely even a plan at all! Listen to us, going off about just going down there and just taking it. Fighting off whoever happens to be there. That won't work; we have no idea on the sorts of guards they'll have down there. This is practically suicide."

Peter chewed on the insides of his cheek, "We just have to be ready for anything. No one else is going to do this. It has to be us."

As they worked to perfect the plan, all three became more and more jumpy. All the things could go wrong; Edmund had already gotten to experience the wrath of Shift's Wolves first hand, the question was hanging in the air if the others would have a similar experience.

However, they decided to screw their courage to the sticking place and just do it. They only had a day's worth of planning, but the next day might be too late. The Ape just about had all of Narnia in the palm of his hand.

They walked as speedily as they could through the corridors. The only light they saw was the milky white moonlight leading their way down the staircases, that seemed narrower than they actually were. Edmund felt an eerie sensation slide down his neck.

Was Susan right? He wondered, was this practically suicide? They had previously made a bit of an outline to follow, move as swiftly as they could without being seen, grab the juice, and get out. Defeat anyone in the way. That was all that Edmund understood, it might have been more complex than that, but if it was, he wasn't familiar with it.

Just then, Edmund realized that he had never seen his home so empty before. Everyone else was, as he should be, curled up on their downy mattresses, fast asleep. Either that, or they were the knights keeping watch of the gardens and lower levels at night, not daring to risk waking part of the royal family by searching their floors. A rather counterproductive practice when you thought about it, Edmund realized. They were sworn to protect the crown, but they couldn't keep their vigil on the floor where the royals were sleeping? (If you're curious, it was because the late queen had been a dreadfully light sleeper, and would be woken up at the sound of a pin dropping.) Forgetting the seriousness at hand, he noted to take away that rule when he became a king.

They descended down the stairs, keeping careful watch for the knights, servants who couldn't sleep, Wolves, Crows, or at the highest extreme, Shift himself. Making sure they weren't seen, they pressed on, down the marble stairs again and again, and they reached what seemed to be the floor just under ground level. They were just inside the cliff, and they knew that the juice would still be another set of stairs downward, deeper still into the cliff.

The familiarity of home had slipped away from Edmund, and older, more unkempt walls surrounded the trio. The importance of the situation came back to him, and he forced himself to focus. The ceilings lost the domes that he was used to, and he realized that he hadn't been in this part of the castle at all before. The cool milky light of the moon was traded in for torchlight, not unpleasant if it weren't for the circumstances.

They continued on, down stairs, until they reached a large set of double doors made of iron. Susan, who was in the front of their procession, opened the door just so that the three of them could get through, in a single filed line. Shrinking in behind a wall, Susan peered out into the rest of the room from it. "It can't be this easy," she whispered, and to Peter and Edmund's looks, she replied, "There's only one sentry. A Cat. I can see it, in a vial on the table. It has to be a decoy or something."

"We might as well get on, though." Peter said. "What kind of Cat is it?"

"Only a ginger Tom." Susan whispered, grabbing the string of her bow, "I can take care of him, if you'd like."

"By all means," came Peter's reply, as Edmund shrugged at Susan, and rolled his eyes at Peter.

Susan reached into the high-collar of her dress, and pulled out a necklace, a simply cut gem on a golden chain. After rubbing the gem across her fingers, Susan tossed it through the hall, attempting to get the Cat's attention.

Edmund couldn't see the Cat so, instead, he watched Susan. She gripped the string, starting to pull it back. He had never seen the same intensity in her eyes before or since then; Susan had never done something like this outside of practicing, what if she hit the wrong place? Edmund saw her inhale deeply before spinning out from behind the wall.

"Curiosity killed the Cat!" her voice was hoarse, and she let go of the string.

There was an immediate yipping noise, a frightened half-scream half-meow, and then all was silent. Edmund ran out to see, lying on the stone ground was the Cat Susan had mentioned previously, an arrow in his shoulder. "Is he dead?" Edmund asked.

"No." Susan muttered. "It's the same basic thing as the fly. Only bigger. If he dies it would be from infection." She took the arrow out of the Cat's side and proceeded to jab the Cat several times in the side, on the legs and various places. "Pressure points," she explained. "So, he won't get up again. I'd rather not kill anyone right now, and I don't think he saw you."

Looking around the room, Edmund found that he could very unmistakably see a plain metal table, and on this table two things sat; a rounded vial, filled with a queer sort of red liquid, and a tall wax candle, a yellow flame burning bright on the wick.

Peter was already in the center of the room. "Is this it, you think?" he said, feeling that Susan was right, there had to be something else waiting for them; it couldn't be as easy as reaching and taking it.

"There doesn't seem to be anything else in here," Susan remarked, looking about for any other doors, for anything that might look like it could hold it, "It does look like the stuff that was in the army's tent, however."

The room, in fact, was a large circle shape, giving one the feeling of being stuck in a hole, deep in the ground, and was relatively empty. There weren't any other doors, the only other potential exit a sealed, barred window, which appeared as if it came up just above water level on the moat. The lack of exits muffled their poorly made plans; they had counted on a back way.

"Just take it, Peter." Edmund urged stepping up to the other side of the table, wanting to get out of this room as soon as he could, swearing he could see the Cat's tail begin to twitch.

Swinging his head over to Susan, who simply shrugged, Peter stepped farther forward, and quickly, as if it was white-hot, took it into his hand. For a moment, the three waited, silence creeping into their skulls. After awhile, they all smiled. They had gotten the juice; for they were certain (and correct in this certainty) that they got the right stuff, now it was just a matter of getting away.

Edmund began to walk out from the opposite side of the table, so as to stand closer to the others and be able to get away at a faster pace along with them, and his elbow accidentally knocked the long wax candle over.

Suddenly, a bit of the flame from the candle began to move, lowly, through the air. A flame the size of a coin crossed right in front of Susan's face. It was now that they noticed strings, as fine as hair, about the whole room, as the flame climbed them.

In the corner of the room, now they noticed, a large basin light up entirely from the fire. The bright and hot light was nearly blinding. The string continued, out through the hallway. Barks and caws came out, loud and penetrating, from other rooms in the hallway. They were found.

"Oh, well done Ed." Peter muttered.

"I didn't do it on purpose!"

"Boys," Susan said, fitting another arrow onto her bow, "perhaps right now isn't the best time to discuss this. Save it for later."

With this, they sped out of the room, only in time to see a blockade, nine Crows hung in the air, with a large group of Wolves underneath them, snarling and showing their teeth.

One of the Crows flew downward and, resting on a doorknob, began to caw, and to say, "Nine Crows for hell."

Susan pulled back the string on the bow, and focused on a Crow hanging in the air, ready to shoot and, this time, not miss a lethal point. Peter held out his sword, ready to begin to slash through the Wolves, and Edmund moved on similarly.

The Wolf at the head of the group sneered, "Come on. Just give it back, and you can return to your lives as they were."

They all remained unmoved; Peter still had the messed-with juice of the fire-flower, and he was going to keep it that way.

"What happened to you, boy," the Wolf now addressed Edmund, "was only a preview. It can, and will, get a lot worse."

Peter and Edmund came to life after that, holding their swords in whichever position they thought would provide them with the best advantage against the Wolves or Crows.

However, it was Susan who got them out of this. She, in a moment of quick thinking, put her arrow partially into one of the torches until it was alight. In a split second after that, she pulled back the string, and shot a fiery arrow a Crow's heart. The Crow fell onto the back of a Wolf, and with the flaming arrow burning the black feathers, it set the Wolf's coat into flames as well.

They began to step forward, weapons at the ready, ready to give their all in a fight. Shockingly, neither the Wolves nor the Crows fought back, they simply stood their ground, but they didn't dive or bite. It took Edmund a few years to realize why; keeping both princes alive was vital to the Ape's plan. If the boys were killed that night, Shift would have nothing to force King Frank to do his bidding with. What had happened to Edmund worked with the plan, King Frank knew that something could happen to his sons, and would cooperate all the more; but not if they were dead.

Using the hilt of their swords, Peter and Edmund pushed their way through the blockade, finding that they wouldn't be attacked. However, when they were passed, it was apparent that they'd be chased down until the Wolves got the juice back.

They ran, tripping over some of the steps, now so much more slippery than they had been going down, but kept on going, the Wolves on their heels, and the Crows near their heads. Just because they couldn't severely injure them any more, didn't mean that they wouldn't nip at their heels and scare them half to death.

They continued on running, until they reached the stable, still hearing snarls and caws. How they got to the stable, Edmund could not remember. But, he did remember flinging himself up onto a dumb horse, as Peter and Susan had done themselves, and galloped away.

It wasn't until they were well away from Cair Paravel, inside a cluster of trees, with rain pouring down his face, that Edmund realized the biggest hole in their plan, and he was so surprised that no one thought of it. They hadn't decided what they were going to do once they got the juice of the fire-flower. Now they were run out of Cair Paravel, and, suddenly Edmund knew that if they valued their lives, they wouldn't be coming back.

**A/N: Please review! Oh, and if anyone knows where I got the idea for Edmund suggesting a holocaust cloak from, you rock. **


	15. Chess

"And then what happened?" Lucy asked, clutching a pillow to her chest, and staring at Edmund with curious eyes.

"What do you mean?" Edmund asked, once again snapping himself back from the past, back to Lucy's bedchamber. "We lived in the forest for years. Avoided the Wolves whenever they came around, that was the easy part. We made a fairly decent-sized tree house, and lived there. It was the Crows we had to worry about, but they weren't really sent out to find us, I don't think, for the first few years. More recently, Susan got sick, a Crow saw us, and we came here. And you've been here for the rest. Well?"

"Well what?" Lucy asked, not seeing what exactly he was getting at.

"Well, you found out what you wanted to." Edmund said, sitting up off the headboard where he had been previously leaning. "I've told you a lot…" He stopped. Admittedly, he was going to see if he could take what was in the vial then, but then he thought better of it. Lucy didn't seem like the sort of girl who could be easily persuaded in the matters of what she thought was right and what she thought was wrong. Instead he said, in a tone that indicated an annoyance he didn't feel, "You want anything else?"

"Well, if you wouldn't mind." Lucy nodded and continued, "If you had the vial for awhile, how come I found it in a Rabbit's hole five years ago?"

"Easy," Edmund began. "It was when we were just starting to build the tree house, Peter was out looking for food, I went to take a bath in a river, and Susan was up in the tree either changing or something else. Because we didn't like it left alone, and Susan never wanted anything to do with it—she wanted a clear conscience in case she was found and questioned, so she'd be able to say 'I never touched it' and other stuff to keep Peter and me alive. I told the Rabbit (who was the only other person who knew we were there) to find the boy in the black cloak and take him to it, which would've been Peter. Either he was blind or stupid, because he got you; Little Red Hood. Susan tried to scare you into dropping it, but you ran away with it." He paused and added in, sarcasm dripping from his voice, "Brilliant of you, by the way."

"Oh." Lucy paused and went on, as delicately as she could with her mind working as fast as it could. "So, you lived alone with Peter and Susan for all that time? Didn't you get lonely? Or miss your father? You never got a chance to talk to him after you were hurt, did you? Is that why—" she trailed off.

"You mean," Edmund said slowly, something easily mistaken for a smirk on his lips, "is it the reason I'm 'like this,' as Susan's said to me a while back? Look, not that you understand, but being looked down on for your whole life evidently leads people to act 'like this.' Whatever 'this' means. But you can't understand so what should I try to explain?"

Lucy paused, and then said with more courage and gall than she thought was in her, "I might understand, you know. But, it seems like you're afraid to be understood, because then you might not be able to defend what you're feeling."

Edmund opened his mouth to speak, but was interrupted by a sudden cough in the doorway.

"Caspian!" Lucy chirped, springing up to her feet so as to greet her friend at the door.

However, Caspian looked straight at Edmund. "There you are. Peter's been looking for you."

Edmund almost tilted his head to the side out of confusion, almost, but not quite. Instead, he lowered his eyebrow, and said, far sharper than even he intended, "Why?"

"Susan woke up." The response was delivered in a way that came was half a dismissal and half a message of sorts.

"Oh." Edmund said, but then continually repeated it, each time with a bit more feeling and meaning behind it, as if he was thinking of a new thing with each syllable.

Just before he exited the room, Edmund turned towards Lucy's direction. "Erm, Red?" He hesitated. He knew that he had been masking his liking of her since he had started to, a little while in to his story. Don't get him wrong, she was still annoyingly stubborn and probably the least favorable person to have control of the vial. It's not as though he liked her a lot, just a bit more than he led on. He had an upfront curiosity of her and thought that if only she weren't so adamant about keeping the vial from him, they'd have a chance at being friendly. A chance about as big as a speck of dust, but a chance nonetheless. If only they didn't disagree about everything concerning ethics. He considered, but spoke with less thought than he thought he would need. "How about we make it Pax, you and I?"

"We were fighting?" Lucy asked, wondering if she had been misunderstanding the phrase for her whole life.

"Maybe a little…not really. But let's just be friendly, all right?" He sounded strained and annoyed with Lucy, not exactly fitting what he was saying.

Lucy nodded, smiling, "Yes. Of course. But, you know, my name is Lucy."

She spoke just in time to see the youngest prince of Narnia shrug and turn out of sight, leaving her a little more than confused. Hadn't he said that he wanted to be friends? Yet, he was still calling her Red, didn't he say that he gave nicknames solely to those he didn't care about? Perhaps, she thought, I'm a different case; maybe he's trying to be friendly in an odd way. Her guess was a bit contradictory to itself, but I'm not one to sit around and nitpick.

"What was that about?" Caspian said, turning back to his friend, a little confused by the exchange himself, but for a completely separate reason.

Lucy swiveled on her heels and felt the engraving in the vial. "I suppose there are just some things you can't share without ending up liking each other."

"Such as?" Caspian asked, attempting to fight back a queer feeling building in his stomach. It wouldn't have been such a surprise if he had had someone else in the world to count on, to talk to. Still, it was a rather shocking realization that he didn't have a monopoly of Lucy's attention, and the fact that he never had it was another realization in itself.

"Edmund told me, well, everything." Lucy then proceeded to give Caspian the basic overview of what Edmund had told her, not exactly giving the specifics. She skipped over the more violent bits, and sped over the parts that didn't seem to have much to do with what happened.

Caspian, eventually, nodded and murmured, "That explains a lot. So you like him?"

"I think so." Lucy nodded, confused by the nature of this question.

Before you get the wrong idea, let me explain. If you've already gotten this idea, allow me to persuade you otherwise. Lucy was the only person Caspian had; she was the only person he had spoken with for years. His intentions towards her were only those of a friend, as he's assured me. He was merely afraid of Lucy being hurt, and of having no one at all. A frightening thing to even a fairly solitary person; everyone has to have someone.

It wasn't long after this that Lucy got her first opportunity to meet the Lady Susan. In fact, it was minutes after. She and Caspian had given the princes a while to tell Susan about the situation and to talk things over before two others came into the attic.

After speaking for a while, they went to the hallway with the portrait of the old lady; Old Mrs. Lefay the Professor had called her in a tone similar to disgust. The portrait was already removed and on the floor, as was the paneling in the wall. Lucy twisted the doorknob on the narrow white entry, and made her way into the staircase.

Caspian moved the portion of the wall closer to the hole, hopped in, and fitted the wall back over the hole. Later this became a standard safety precaution everyone took, along with the Professor and Aunt Polly walking by every day to fit the portrait back into its place.

Without any light from the rest of the house to lighten the staircase, it was dark going up. Lucy went slowly and carefully, so as not to miss a step again and come crashing down.

Soon, however, they could both see the light from the fireplace in the attic, and were able to speed up their pace without fear of tripping.

In the center area of the attic, three silhouettes sat against the fire. Peter sat up straight, appearing to have a teacup in his hands, Edmund lounged on his side, propping himself up on his elbow with one knee in the air. Susan was in the middle of the brothers, sitting up with her back towards Lucy, wrapped in a blanket.

When Lucy approached, she tried to take a seat next to Edmund, but he gave her a look in her approaching that made her step back several feet and redirect herself to sit with Peter. It surprised her, but she didn't allow herself to dwell on it for that moment. Peter moved over a seat for Lucy's convenience, already feeling something like brotherly compassion towards her. She smiled warmly at him.

Awake and obviously alive, Susan looked somewhat different. She didn't look quite so much like a porcelain doll, as she was moving and speaking. The contrast of black and white remained, but less so, as her face either wasn't quite so white, or her cheeks not so red from fever. (Actually, it was a mix of both options).

"You must be Lucy." Susan spoke weakly, but politely. "Peter's told me about you."

"They've both told me about you," Lucy said, feeling the need to be a little extra polite. "Are you feeling better?"

"Yes, thank you." Susan nodded, although she wheezed between breaths, "the medicine your aunt gave me helped."

Lucy considered mentioning that Aunt Polly wasn't really her aunt, but decided not to mention it, it wasn't all that important. Either way, because of living with the Kirkes for so long, it felt like Aunt Polly truly was her aunt.

There was a moment of silence, before Lucy decided to break it. "It's great to meet you. You look better."

"And you," Susan said, being proper but also meaning it. She added, partway for the sake of conversation, "It's going to be nice to be around another girl again—"

"At least now she doesn't have to go off about clothes and all that to me." Edmund said, head down.

From his place sitting behind Lucy, Caspian shot Edmund a look that clearly read, "Don't be an ass."

However, Peter was the one who spoke, "Come off it, Ed. She's been really good lately. You know she hasn't really talked about things like that in almost a year."

"Thank you, Peter." Susan mumbled her thanks, and gave him a smile that the situation didn't exactly warrant, like she had been waiting for an excuse to give him that more than pretty smile.

"Hey, Red." Edmund said tersely, ticking his head towards the hall. "C'mon, I want to talk to you."

"What about?" She asked this with simple curiosity; she wanted to stay and get to know Susan more, but on the other hand, there was some sort of queer thing about Edmund, like there was a string inside of her, that pulled, little by little at her, willing her to follow him.

"I just want to talk." Edmund crossed his arms.

Lucy stood and followed him into the hall, and surprisingly led her into the very first room. It was narrow with a wooden roof that slanted, making it seem smaller than it really was. There was dusty old furniture lining the walls, crates of dusty belongings and trinkets, an old mattress sitting upright, and a grand piano that looked older still.

"Is something wrong?" Lucy inquired, knitting her eyebrows together.

"Depends on your definition of wrong. I wanted to get out of there before it got ugly." Edmund muttered, fishing through the piles along the walls and pulled out a cracked chessboard. "Want to play?"

"What do you mean, before it got ugly?" She sat down, and watched Edmund set the chessboard onto a crate and put the pieces in their proper alignments.

"Peter and Susan" came the reply; curt and forced as possible as the prince moved a pawn forward.

Lucy cocked her head to the side, "What do you mean—"

"Shut up. It's your move." It was clear that Edmund didn't wish to discuss it further.

Lucy was somewhat good at chess, her mother first taught her when she was very young, and she played it all her life. In Beruna, she would play against Gwendolen or any of the other children in town, and her rate of winning and losing was average then. When she moved in with the Professor and Aunt Polly, she would play them on occasion, she lost almost every time to these adults. She didn't mind that though; she just liked playing. However, Edmund must have been dreadfully out of practice (which he was; he didn't have a chessboard up in the tree house) because it was apparent from the beginning that he had forgotten the importance of guarding his queen.

"You know," she said, trying to save the game from ending in three minutes, "I can take your queen if you move her there."

"So?" He said, gesturing to the board. "I've still got my king in action."

"But, without the queen, the king might has well just give himself up," she caught something as hard and dead as granite in Edmund's eyes and bit her lip.

"Why is that, little Red?" He muttered with the same granite eyes, only with it leaking into his voice.

"I suppose he just doesn't want to fight without her," Lucy said, and slowly tried to loosen the sudden, tense atmosphere. "He really loved her, you know."

Unless her eyes deceived her, Lucy could have sworn she saw Edmund smiling, a true smile, suppressing a laugh. "Right," he said, with only a bit of humored sarcasm. "I'm certain."

He didn't move his queen that time, but he did return to tense silence.

She tried several times to press for conversation after that, but was only met with stony looks and quiet, that is, until well into the game, when Lucy went to move her knight.

"You don't want to do that." Edmund observed, feeling like he, once again, had the hang of chess.

Lucy shook her head, "Yes, I do."

"Are you kidding? Knight to H-3?" Edmund laughed, "My queen's going to take him!"

"Yes," she smiled, not caring if this cost her the game for the moment. "Knight to H-3, your queen would attack him, leaving your king in check, in perfect position for my bishop to take him at E-6."

Edmund looked at the board, and raised an eyebrow, "You can't do that. You're trying to trick me. Bishops can only go on the diagonal."

"Try it then." Lucy said, challenging him out of fun.

Edmund's queen took the knight, but he saw his mistake after he moved; she hadn't been trying to trick him, but he hadn't seen the bishop she was referring to. She was going to win.

Seeing the dumbstruck look on his face, Lucy moved her bishop over to his queen; she giggled lightly and said, "Checkmate."

He had been smiling, and even let out a sudden chortle of surprise, but instead of anything else, he said, "You brought your bishop to F-7, not E-6, you liar."

"Don't call me that." Lucy said, her tone completely serious. If there was one thing she detested more than being treated ten years younger than she was, it was being called a liar. She was, by nature, a very honest girl and didn't want anyone to say otherwise.

Edmund shrunk backwards for a moment, but all he did was shrug, no apology on his lips.

Lucy sighed, and to think they had actually been getting on rather well.

They sat in silence, before Edmund decided to just suck it up and say, "Look here, Red, you _are_ pretty good. Remind me never to play this with you for money."

Lucy nodded, assuming that he was trying to apologize with the compliment. "I will."

XXXXXXXX

"You're not paying attention." Aunt Polly said to Lucy during their lessons, several days after Lucy won the chess match.

"What?" Lucy asked, coming out of the trancelike state she had previously been in. "Oh, I'm sorry, Aunt Polly. I was just thinking."

Aunt Polly glanced at the blank paper on Lucy's lap and the quill that hadn't been submerged in ink yet that day, "Not about today's lesson, I imagine."

Shaking her head, with a blush creeping up her neck, Lucy said, "No. I'm sorry. I don't even know what we're looking at today."

"History," Aunt Polly said. "But, before we go on, what's on your mind, distracting you from your favorite subject?"

Lucy bit her lip, and looked, it appeared, as though to the skies, where she was really trying to get a glimpse at the window in the attic. "What is it that makes someone act one way when they're alone with someone, but the opposite way around others?"

Aunt Polly asked Lucy to explain further, and so she did. "It's about Edmund," she wondered for a moment if she ought to use his title when referring to him, but continued on either way. "Whenever it's just us two, oh, I don't know. But he's different. He isn't exactly nice to me, but still, he's not entirely unkind. But then, if Peter or Susan, or even Caspian enters the room and joins us, he doesn't want to talk to me any more, he just ignores me or else tells me to be quiet. Peter and Susan are wonderful, really. Peter's great fun and treats me like I'd imagine a brother would, and Susan's lovely. It's only that I don't like how Edmund treats me when I'm with them. I've asked Caspian, and he says that perhaps it's that Edmund doesn't want Susan and Peter to know that he likes me, but when Edmund and I are alone, it's always because Susan and Peter are talking and getting on well. Edmund just gets up, leaves, and asks me to follow him."

There must have been a hundred options for the youngest prince's behavior. He could have had a selfish motive; perhaps he wanted to make Susan and Peter start to wonder about them going off alone, or perhaps he was trying to get closer to her to get the juice of the fire-flower. Perhaps he just wanted a friend, and Peter and Susan getting on made him feel lonely or jealous. Perhaps he was embarrassed to reveal that he liked her. Or, and this is the most likely of all, he was starting to truly like her, and was ashamed because of the motives that fueled his actions since the beginning.

Whatever his reasons were, they remained a mystery.

**A/N: Please review, and in particular, please tell me what you think of the different relationships going on, and what you think they're all about. **


	16. Swords and a Duel

The days came and left, and with each day, Susan became better, little by little. After a week or so of medicine, she had entirely recovered, and was back to her old self. This meant having to deal with her extremely proper habits all the time. I would have thought that five years of living in a tree house with two boys would have lessened them, but alas, no. On one particularly occasion, she talked about moving the blankets and cushions into separate rooms for sleeping purposes, among other things.

"That would mean that we'd have to divide up the cushions." Edmund said. "And that would mean that all of us," he gestured around him to Peter and Caspian, "would have less cushions amongst the three of us. I hate to break it to you, but there is no way that I'm cuddling up to _him_." He pointed to his brother, thought of something, and added, pointing to Caspian, "Or him. Let's just say I'm not cuddling anyone."

Lucy, who had been sitting next to Peter, said, "Well, I could ask the Professor about it, but I've got a fairly large room, if you'd like to share it, Susan, I wouldn't mind."

Although she appreciated the offer, Susan shook her head. "It would defeat the whole purpose of keeping us in the attic," she explained. "If someone came looking for us, and we weren't hidden…"

Lucy nodded, seeing where they were coming from. If they were caught, they'd be taken back to the Ape, and Edmund would probably be killed. This was a fate that Lucy didn't even want to begin to think about. After a moment, she asked, "But aren't you ever going to leave the attic? It's getting so nice out; I hate to think of you all cooped up in here."

Edmund waited, not wanting to seem as though he approved of Lucy's idea, but then said, "If we stay inside, eventually, we're just going to waste away."

"Don't you always say, 'It's not like there isn't air inside'?" Susan pointed out, still feeling the threat of Wolves and Crows breathing down her neck, no matter how far away they actually were. When she was sick, she had slightly hallucinated, and being seen by the Crow was quite a bit more climatic in her mind than it actually was.

"Shut up. You don't have to be a know-it-all all the time." Edmund's cheeks flushed red for a moment, before he felt a sudden pound on the back of his head, "Ow! Peter! What was that for?"

Peter, who indeed had smacked his brother upside the head, muttered, "Don't call her a know-it-all."

"Thank you, Peter." Susan nodded, as if that would solve the matter; Edmund obviously had separate plans.

"Why? I'm being honest. She is a know-it-all! You're just trying to get on her good side." Edmund went from almost shouting, to low mumbles and a nearly childish pout.

"Oh, you'd know how _that_ works, wouldn't you?"

"Peter!" Susan almost squeaked, cheeks tinted pink, "Shut up!"

They paused, before Edmund began something again, "You didn't hit _her_."

Lucy and Caspian, who had been sitting back during this brief argument, exchanged glances in which she realized that they were thinking the same thing. These people definitely had to get out of the attic, and Caspian, at least, was forming an idea.

Maybe a few days before, they had found swords in one of the back rooms. Although it had come off more like a separate living place than an actual attic, it turned out that most of the rooms down that hall were used as storage for the things that the Kirkes either chose not to get rid of, or had simply forgotten about over the years. Indeed, nearly all of the back rooms were stuffed to capacity with crates, old and broken furniture, and other things.

Peter had suggested they rummage through the crates and see if there was anything for them to amuse themselves with, as chess was getting a little passé.

"Do you think the Professor will mind?" Susan had asked.

"I doubt it," Peter replied. "Those back rooms are just storage space. We're bound to find something; we've already found a chessboard and a piano."

"It's not like any of us play piano." Edmund mumbled, his finger tracing the embroidery of a blanket out of sheer boredom.

"How do you do it?" Lucy had asked Edmund, staring at him from the opposite end of the little circle they all had made.

"Play the piano? I have no idea. That was the point, genius."

"No," Lucy shook her head, she was getting used to his attitude, but hated it, by this point. "How do you spend all your time being so…bitter?" She had to pause before going on to use the correct word, as pessimistic wouldn't have been the right one. "Don't you find it exhausting?"

Something very similar to a smile played on Edmund's lips as he murmured so quietly that no one could hear, "Only when I'm around you." Then it vanished and he spoke, louder this time. "I guess it's just that I prefer to see the dark side of things. The glass is half empty. And cracked. And I just cut my lip on it."

Susan and Caspian rolled their eyes, Lucy sighed, and Peter stood up. "Well, you can all do what you want, but I think I'll have a look around. We've been here for weeks, but I haven't even left this room."

Lucy followed suit; she had explored the lower floors for years, but in realizing that she didn't quite know what the attic was like, she was suddenly overcome by a wave of curiosity. "I think I'll go too."

With that, somehow, everyone decided that they might as well get in on the fun too. They went rummaging through old dusty crates and peeking at old portraits. Lucy found one that she swore was the Professor at her age, although neither her nor Caspian could be sure in the little light they had.) They shuffled through paintings of people they assumed were family members of the Professor or Aunt Polly's. They must not have been particularly likeable to the Kirkes; why else would they keep the portraits in the attic? They shuffled through, opening old crates that needed a great deal of prying and work; only to find out they were only old, cracked supper plates or glasses. Peter had first noticed a rather large trunk, much like the one in Lucy's chambers, but when he opened it on its squeaky hinges he found it completely empty, aside from an old shattered mirror and a leather-bound notebook labeled "P. Plummer" which they left well enough alone.

Then, it happened. Susan, who was still feeling a bit unwell, decided that she needed to sit down. When she sat herself down on a newer, brighter, less splintery crate than the others, Caspian noticed that it seemed to be on a little track, a somewhat shallow break in the floorboards.

With a little protest from Susan, they all began pushing the crate over so that it would go on the tracks. It's easier said than done, might I just say. The crate was big and bulky, and the smooth surface that was only good for not getting splinters in one's fingers was no good for keeping your grip on it. Edmund accused Lucy several times of stepping on his foot, to which each time the girl would reply, "I didn't!"

And so it went on for quite awhile, until they were finally able to move the crate out onto the track; it wouldn't slide, so they had to keep pushing it, until the gap in the floorboards ceased. Behind it, and between the wall and where the other crate used to be, there was a long, narrow box, painted stunning jet-black.

It was rather simple to open, just a little pulling provided enough for the top of the box to pop off. Caspian, who was opening the box, had fumbled with it and it clinked on the floor. When they peered inside the box, at least all the boys were excited, and I think Lucy might have been, too.

Inside, lying in sheaths made of an indescribable, tough material, were two swords. The hilts alone caught the light like stain glass, but there was no comparing to the blades when they were taken out of the sheaths.

The fact that they had found swords anyway, and the fact that Lucy and Caspian were sure that the three others were in desperate need of some sunshine and were too cooped up with one another, was perfect reason to suggest they go outside.

Susan, at first, had been hesitant, and pointed out all the logical reasons for them to stay in—what if the Wolves saw them? But was ultimately defeated and went outside anyway.

The sun felt bright and hot that day, the air just a little humid. Puffy clouds scattered themselves randomly in the deep blue sky. Lucy noticed how different the scar under Edmund's eye looked in daylight. It didn't look nearly at all the same as it did in dark orange candlelight, although it still troubled her to think of how Edmund got it. However, the scar was less defined in the sun, therefore, was less terrible.

"So, what do we do now?" Susan asked, still overly suspicious, eyeing the fringe of woods around the outskirts of the Professor's land. Honestly, if something had actually been spying on them, the wood was too far away for the spy to be seen, or even to get a good enough view of them. At this distance, a spy could easily mistake Lucy for Susan or Peter for Caspian. However, no one was watching them so it's a moot point.

"We found swords," Caspian said, "so why don't one of you guys show me what you can do?"

Edmund, who had missed being able to duel frequently, stepped forward, "I'll do it," he said, rather excited to have a go at sparring someone other than Peter.

Some people might compare sword-fights with chess, and knowing Edmund's ability at chess, this might but somewhat troublesome. However, if you're an impulsive person, like Edmund, it is ultimately easier to work with it while adrenaline is pulsing through your body in comparison to sitting on a cushion staring at black and white. In fact, sword fighting is a lot like chess; one person has a move, the other counterattacks it, strategies cancel each other out; really all it is, is figuring out what your opponent is going to do before they do it, and canceling it out. So, really, it could all be done on a giant chessboard and be considered a roughly similar game, but with one twist; sword-fighting is fast as lightning. If you're a spectator, it might be somewhat burdensome to try and watch every little detail, every spin of the sword, every counterattack. And if you were fighting and you don't think on your feet, all the good luck in the world wouldn't help you.

When they found a relatively flat area, (usually, you want an area with plenty of high and low terrain for duels, if you want them to be interesting, but there was no land to make any significant leverage, so they settled for flat) at the foot of a hill, Edmund and Caspian took their starting positions, swords crossed.

"Shouldn't they be using wooden staves, or something like what you would use in the woods?" Susan said to Peter. "After all, this is dangerous; they don't have any armor!"

Of course, Susan's plea went unnoticed, because Peter was already a few yards back waiting to see what would happen next, curious to see what Caspian's sword-fighting skills were like.

Caspian and Edmund stood for a moment, two sets of brown eyes digging into each other, trying to guess their opponent's first move. Then, with the sound of clinking metal, Edmund came in from the high, trying to knock Caspian's sword out of his hands. Caspian obviously knew what he was doing as hit Edmund's sword at each attempt, sending the sound of clashing metal through the otherwise quiet air.

It all moved too fast to keep up, but the swords flashed bright in the sunlight, high above both boys' heads and down below the knees in the next instant. Edmund seemed to be on the offense, spinning completely around and giving blows with his sword too quickly to note all the twists and slashes he made through air, and Caspian on the defense, blocking all these blows with quick and forward movements.

Edmund flashed his sword above his head with a twist and a turn, and Caspian's sword nearly flew out of his hands. The Narnian prince turned his own sword around again, and butted the Telmarine in the stomach with the hilt. Then he swooped around and disarmed his opponent entirely. He ended with the sword above his head, but the point facing downwards towards Caspian.

Then, Edmund smiled, the second his sword was back in its sheath, he displayed a certain level of sportsmanship that surprised all present; he helped Caspian to his feet, saying, "You okay? You're pretty hard to beat." Then he turned his attention to Peter, "He'd whip you, Pete."

Peter twitched his eyebrow, but said nothing. Edmund was known to egg him on by playing down his swordsmanship skills. It was irritating, but there was no use reminding his (relatively unstable) brother of this fact, so he had resolved a long time ago to just let it go. He told me this, but sometimes I wonder if it did bother him more than this. However, this was just another reminder to Peter what a prat his brother could be, and how he should probably get around to reminding him how to act around other people.

If you've gotten the wrong impression about Edmund, I do feel the need to clarify, for my own selfish reasons. When talking to his brother, Susan, or even to Caspian, Edmund's intent was not to be mean, or to be nearly as beastly as he often had come off. In fact, he hardly realized, as a rule, how terrible his comments were until they had long since flown off his tongue.

Of course, every rule has an exception. If fact, the only time Edmund was cruel on purpose, was when he was speaking with Lucy around others. He knew that he was being inconsistent to her, and completely unfair, friendly enough one minute and giving her hell the next. But he assured himself, at night when he was lying on his back, trying to go to sleep when his mind prevented him from doing so, that his reasons for treating Lucy like this were valid; it was all her could to prove to himself that he was in the right. Sometimes he even felt guilty, but being as impulsive as he was, he found that he couldn't control his sharp tongue.

The four ended up remaining outside for a large portion of the afternoon, Peter had a chance to spar with Caspian, Susan taught Lucy the basics of archery, and they even found a little ball in a patch of overgrown grass and tossed it around for awhile.

When the afternoon began to come to a close, they were relaxing in the warm grass, Peter and Caspian were in a deep conversation that only they knew anything about (my personal guess was that it had something to do with fathers, or strategies, or something else like that), Susan was staring at a grass stain on her dress, and thinking about how to get it out. Edmund was forcing himself to hold his tongue, as he halfway listened to Lucy talk about the nice weather.

Eventually, they all decided to return to the house. After all, it would be dusk soon, and there was no telling what might lie in the murky fringe of forest lying so close to where they were. After being caught once, no one wanted to repeat such a thing.

In returning to the house, Edmund went up in the lead, but came back almost the instant he reached the top of the hill. "Erm, Red?" He called to Lucy, "is there any particular reason there's a Marsh-wiggle on the doorstep?"

Lucy perked her head up, as she had been looking down to climb up the hill, "Puddleglum?"

"Sure. Why not." Edmund said, impatient. "Why is he here?"

There were several things going through the thoughts of Peter, Susan, and Edmund at this point. There was a possibility that they would be discovered and everything would be ruined; they relatively trusted the Kirkes, but not all the possible candidates that came around to visit. It's not that they automatically labeled Marsh-wiggles as treacherous, either, but they just couldn't be too sure about anyone. They had been desperate when they came to the Kirkes in the first place.

Lucy came around to the front, Caspian just beside her, while the others stayed behind. She assured them that it was fine, and briefly explained the Resistance, which made them less skittish to come over to the front, but still briefly hesitant. "Puddleglum!" Lucy called from behind, and the Marsh-wiggle turned.

"I knocked but nobody answered. I thought you all changed the meeting place and didn't tell me. They probably all did, too."

Shaking her head, Lucy said, "Well, the Professor and Aunt Polly are still in the house, they probably just didn't hear you knock." Caspian nudged her side, and Lucy opened the door, "I'll let you in. Are you the first one here?"

When everyone was in the entrance, Puddleglum turned towards Peter, Edmund, and Susan. "You all must have been hurt or seen, I'd imagine. Or perhaps you fell on your heads and forgot everything about yourselves, I've heard of that happening."

"No, " Peter said, maintaining his kingly demeanor that he so rarely got to exercise in those days, "We remember who we are. It isn't anything like that."

"I see you're making the best of a bad situation, your Highness. That's right. You've been well brought up, you have. You've learned to put a good face on things."

At this moment, Aunt Polly came down the stairs. "I thought I heard someone at the door, but I thought Lucy would get it. Which, I see she has." Then she directed her attention to the princes and Susan, "Follow us, if you will. There are matters that we need to all discuss."

**A/N: Please leave a review on your way out!**


	17. Realizations

Although very few members of the Resistance actually wanted to go through their usual order of business, having the princes of Narnia and Lady Susan standing against the wall that very moment, they were compelled to at least take roll, to ensure every member was there for this rather extraordinary meeting.

Lucy thought she knew what was happening with the roll, and allowed herself to take a peek at Peter, Edmund, and Susan. All three of them were waiting for the real meeting to begin. They had all been in shock when they realized that Mr. Tumnus was a part of this; however, because they all trusted the faun, any doubts or suspicions they may have previously had were wiped away. Lucy was glad of this. She didn't want any of them to run away because they thought they weren't safe.

She felt a little nudge on her arm, and turned her head to face Caspian, the only person on that side of her. He raised his eyebrows when she turned and ticked his head, and that time, she heard it.

"Lucy, formally of Beruna?" the Professor called out again, waiting to finish roll.

Lucy had never been apart of the roll before; it was for the Resistance members only. She felt her eyes get bigger and she hesitated, "I'm a part of this? I mean…I'm in the Resistance?"

There were nods throughout the room. Apparently, they had decided during their last meeting to actually make Lucy a member, seeing as she really had a more important job than most of them; keeping the vial away from the Ape. However, they immediately turned the focus to the reason for this meeting.

Evidentially, the members of the Resistance knew quite a bit more than Lucy had expected them to, or they simply didn't want to know certain things, because they didn't ask about why they ran away, or even where they had been hiding from them all these years. Instead, they spoke to the three about the Resistance itself, ensured them that as soon as things went back the way they were supposed to, the Resistance part would dissolve immediately, although the members themselves might come up with an order of sorts, with the aim of keeping the royalty safe and preserving Aslan's intentions for Narnia.

"Why, exactly," Peter began, "have you been just waiting, or searching, for us?"

"We Beasts never forget," Trufflehunter spoke after a moment passed, "what it was like the last time the prince of Narnia ran away. It caused chaos and nearly ruined the young king who was in reign. And when the prince was found, the two year-old's body was found dead near Caldron Pool—Prince Frank XV."

Peter and Edmund stiffened, Susan covered her mouth with her hand to disguise her gape, and Lucy turned towards the princes, a mixture of sadness and sympathy coursing through her veins. Of course, Caspian hadn't a clue what was going on, but he decided to wait and ask someone when the meeting was over, he didn't want to interrupt.

This tragedy, perhaps, explains why King Frank was so devoted to his living sons. It was an extremely well known thing, though scarcely ever talked about, that Peter wasn't supposed to be the eldest prince of Narnia. Several years before Peter was born, King Frank had had a son with his wife. Prince Frank XV had been the cause of worry for the entire country for two years straight; never a very healthy boy, the young prince was usually ill; feverish or too cold. Then, alas, by either a forever unsolved, but malicious kidnapping, or that the young boy had seen something that caught the light prettily and wandered off; he went missing. For six months, all of Narnia was searching; the queen became very ill herself, and it seemed as though all official affairs were put on hold until the prince could be found. When he was, a centaur found his body; face down, partially in the swirling waters of Caldron Pool. The only clue to his fate was that he was partially turned to stone.

"For one part," the Badger went on, "we didn't want history to repeat itself. And, for the other, we simply wish to keep you alive."

There was silence. Peter and Edmund had always been told of this tragedy, but they rarely thought of it. It was unsolved, but terrible. Peter, I've been told, would sometimes speak with his older brother in private when he needed more consul than anyone else could provide, aside from Aslan of course. He didn't pretend his elder brother was a ghost or anything, but he would simply pretend he was there. But aside from the occasional consult? The dead prince skipped the mind of Peter entirely. Edmund was another case, but largely the same. He only ever thought of his dead brother when he was reminded of his tragic end. The fact of the matter was that it didn't seem quite real to him. He hadn't been born when it happened, and was only ever told this in passing, as the queen, when she was alive, couldn't bear to hear of it. (She was a rather delicate flower.) King Frank couldn't hear of it without tears forming in his eyes, either, but wouldn't show it.

Finally, Susan spoke, "What I want to know is, now that we're here, what do you want us to do?"

"For the time being," the Professor said, "we need you to stay put. We've been trying to form together certain people from the army, not everyone in it, obviously, as it's better to leave many completely oblivious, in case they were to be questioned, and some involved don't know the situation in its entirety…"

Lucy felt several eyes on her, and she knew that she was the example of this. She had been kept in the dark for a while, for safety measures. She had read once about an organization like that, only it was more secretive, and the objective was murder; far from the Resistance's intention, she was certain.

"We're trying to get enough power on our side," Trumpkin finished the thought for the Professor, who had to take a break from speaking to smoke from his pipe. "Once we get enough knights and others to fight on our side, we can form a coup of sorts and take care of the Ape."

"We would be ready the second you were ready," Mr. Tumnus began, speaking to Peter, "but as things are happening, we're rather short-handed."

Aunt Polly cringed. "These days," she said, "you just don't know if you'll be taken away next."

Lucy felt a shiver run up her spine, and was suddenly cold as she looked about the room, and realized for the first time that they were one person short. "Where's Oreius?" she said, her voice barely a whisper.

When no response came, only dejected looks towards the floor, she felt her stomach drop to the ground. "He was taken away, wasn't he? Taken away to where the Telmarine-Narnians are."

"It's not just Telmarine-Narnians anymore." Trufflehunter said sadly. "But Beasts, centaurs, fauns, dwarfs, dryads and naiads. Satyrs, Marsh-wiggles and minotaurs and just about any Narnian that can work."

"Then why are you all here?" Susan, forever cursed to be logical-headed, asked.

"Puddleglum, Trufflehunter, and Trumpkin are hiding with many other Narnians in the place called Aslan's How." The Professor said, "Oreius had been remaining in the army, until it was suspected that he had a double agenda, and he was taken away—there are still Beasts in the army, but few. As far as Polly and I go, we aren't truly suspicious; an old retired Professor of Narnian history and his wife living too far west and taking care of a friend's daughter, it doesn't seem as though we're going to storm Cair Paravel any time soon. "

"Oreius was taken away!" Lucy repeated, remembering with quite a bit of passion her first reaction about knowing Gwendolen's similar fate. "Don't any of you want to find out where he is and help him?"

"We know where he was taken," the answer came swiftly from the Professor, "but that does no good if we can't help him."

Feeling a lump rise in her throat, Lucy asked quietly, "Where? Where were they taken?"

Aunt Polly responded, "The Northern Marsh, where Puddleglum used to live. It's part of the reason he has had to hide."

"And they're using my wigwam for some sort of ghastly torture, I'd imagine." Puddleglum put in. "I've seen what they do, but I won't tell you about that. It would lower your spirits, no doubt, and that's something I never do."

Lucy proceeded to speak after this, in such a way that left everyone in the room surprised, and beside that, it left Edmund impressed. "You've known all this time. And you won't do anything about it! Even after Oreius was taken, a friend of all of yours, you still won't do anything? My friend Gwendolen was taken away, too, and I couldn't help her! You all can help, but you don't. Doesn't that bother you?"

Susan spoke up, "I see where they're coming from, Lucy. You can't get everyone out, and will only feel guilty because you can't if you try to. But more to the point, when there's so much more to focus on, some things take precedence over others. Forgive the cliché, but we have bigger fish to fry."

"That doesn't mean we can't help them!" Lucy said, and then added in a shaky voice, "Would Aslan want us to leave them behind?"

"You're not listening, Lucy." Peter spoke, in that same kingly voice that usually made those he spoke to want to do as he said, but it didn't work this time with the girl opposite him.

"No! You're not listening. None of you are! People are being incarcerated for crimes they didn't commit, and from what it sounds like, tortured and worked to the bone! All of you want to take down the biggest thing first. That's never a good idea. Can't you see that waiting to take down the biggest thing is wasting time? And time's all some people have!"

Mr. Tumnus shuffled his cloven hooves and covered his face with a handkerchief. Trumpkin looked at his hands. Trufflehunter sighed deeply, contemplating. Aunt Polly looked downward to her husband in the chair and said, her voice low, "Digory…what can we do?"

"You're pretty good, Red," Edmund, who had been quiet up until this point spoke, softly. To everyone's surprise, he then started defending her. "Haven't you all been saying that we need more people to fight against the Ape? I'm sure that those imprisoned would be more than willing to fight for us."

"It's a bit more complicated than that." Peter said, with his arms crossed over his chest.

"Everyone's saying that they want to choke the puppetmaster with the strings and marionettes he commands." Edmund countered, his mind spinning. "Attack like a virus, from the inside. Get the courtiers and Narnian army to bring the downfall of the Ape. But, it won't be enough. He's got Wolves and Crows and he's smart. We need something else. Get those in the camps to fight for us if they can; they should know the basic situation. They can attack from the outside. I'd read more into what Red's saying. She's smarter than she looks."

Lucy turned around and mouthed her thanks to Edmund, who nodded to her. It was quite a step up from the usual shrug. She hadn't noticed how much she had begun to loathe that gesture. Shrugging, I mean.

The argument continued. While Mr. Tumnus, Trufflehunter, and Aunt Polly now seemed to be on the fence with what they wanted to happen, Peter, Susan, Trumpkin, and the Professor remained on their side of waiting to let the imprisoned free when they made all well with Narnia. Edmund had countered that it might cause an uprising, and continued arguing on the side of Lucy, and Caspian, although mostly silent, made several good points.

"If we can get into and out of the…they're calling them camps, aren't they?" Caspian said, "unnoticed, and if we can do the same in getting maybe, a handful of people out, we'll have the advantage. The Ape only has himself, Wolves, and Crows. If we could get, perhaps, a Minotaur, a centaur or two, a few Beasts, a dryad or a naiad, we've already got the makings of a real Narnian army. If we wait until the official army is in battle with Telmar, we can take Cair Paravel, like Edmund said, from the inside."

"Getting in and out unnoticed," Trumpkin said grimly, "would be the easy part. And nearly impossible at that."

"Why?" Caspian asked, "You're trying to do the same thing anyway. This is just a way to get people to fight."

Aunt Polly turned back to the Professor, "We do have Tirian. I think they're on to something. We should let them, it's a smart idea."

"A dangerous idea." The Professor spoke, somewhat dryly, but not at all mean, it was as if he was considering.

Aunt Polly, for the first time that Lucy saw, put her hands on her hips, she looked so much younger than she did normally (which was younger than her age), like someone only just leaving the prime of their life. "It's war" was all she needed to remind them.

When the meeting came to an end, Edmund went and sought out Lucy. He found her in her bedroom, lying on her bed and tracing the writing on her chest with her finger. "You did what I did," he said from the doorway, making the girl jump.

"Sorry?" she asked, sitting up.

Coming into the room, with or without invitation, Edmund continued, "In the meeting. You did what I did, a long time ago. You yelled at authority for what you saw was fair."

"It wasn't just was for what was fair, Edmund." Lucy spoke softly, "It was for what was right. But, you're right." She started blushing, "I was thinking about what you did before I stood up. I suppose that when you admire something someone's done, you want to mimic it in some way."

"You got better results than I did. It looks like we're going to do it!" Edmund almost smiled warmly at her, but caught himself in time, afraid to admit that he liked her. "I mean, we've still got to plan and such, but I think we won."

"Your luck is changing." Lucy said, simply, lightly, and warmly.

"Not quite." Edmund was back to his grim self, using the tips of his fingers to brush his scar. "You still won't give it to me, will you?"

Shaking her head, Lucy murmured, "No, I won't."

She would have been upset that he asked her about it again, but the part of Edmund that Lucy had always been sure was in there somewhere, ever since he told her his story, was starting to peek through. As far as Edmund thought, he made the connection to what she said and what he did, and in finally finding a similar ground to something important to both of them, he let the ice melt and started to warm up to her.

Susan and Peter then appeared at the door. Peter spoke first, "Lucy, would you come with me for a minute? Caspian and I want to talk with you."

Lucy nodded and followed Peter away, curious as to what exactly they wanted to talk with her about. Susan and Edmund remained. When Lucy and Peter were long out of earshot, Susan looked around and tried to sound as though she wasn't interested. "You watched her go," she observed.

"Did I?" Edmund asked, at first surprised by himself, wondering what had come over him, but then decided to turn it around. "Well, you know, I can watch anyone go as I please. You really can't have a say in it anymore, now can you?"

"I'm not getting possessive." Susan defended herself, "I just didn't think you liked her at all."

"Oh?"

"You never call her by name," Susan started the list, "you don't treat her well. And the only reason you speak to her at all is because you want the juice of the Fire-flower."

Edmund stiffened. "Perhaps it's not the whole reason. Maybe I do like her." He stopped, realizing that it was the truth. He liked her, quite a bit, but he couldn't admit it because of his initial motives. He wasn't nice to her to, for one, fool himself, and also because he hadn't wanted Susan to realize it, and preserve any hope he had. He would take Lucy into other rooms only because he didn't want to admit that Susan had moved on to his brother.

"How much?" Susan asked, although her head begged her not to. Why should it matter to her if Edmund liked Lucy? It shouldn't. She was over him. She had Peter, whom she liked far more than she ever liked Edmund, but still, it was getting to her.

"Do you care?" Edmund's voice was slick, baiting for her answer.

"A little!" Susan shouted, her vision becoming blurred. She hated these irrational feelings. For such a long time she always convinced herself that what she and Edmund had had wasn't real, merely a phase, but she was charged up and feeling things that didn't make sense.

Seeing that he had cut her, Edmund forced himself to soften his voice. "Do you miss it?"

"Do I miss what?"

"You know," Edmund said, turning cold to hide his heart. "You and me. Us. It used to have some meaning to it."

Susan shook her head, "No. It was two years ago, and only because we weren't around anyone else, and so we invented—"

"Shut up."

Susan sighed, tense and strained. "Maybe I miss it a little," she admitted, "but not enough to do anything about it."

"You have Peter now." The words sizzled on his tongue like poison. "You've always preferred him. Just like everyone else."

"Regardless to whether or not that's true," Susan began slowly, "it's not the reason I cut it off. We really weren't good together. We weren't around anyone else for years, and so I didn't have many options, and you had none other than me. We invented the feelings, Edmund. They weren't real."

They stood, the heavy words hanging in the air. Times like these Edmund wanted to hate Susan, but couldn't bring himself to. Truth be told, he still halfway loved her. They had had a relationship for two years, and he thought things were going fine, Peter was more moody, but he could deal with that. Then, out of apparently nowhere, Susan had decided that she only wanted to be friendly. It might not have been such a heavy blow if being friendly meant that you could still snogthose whom you were friendly to. Alas, no, that might get awkward.

"If you honestly don't care," Edmund said hotly, refusing to believe Susan's all too-thought out reasons, "then how come it bothered you when I watched her go?"

Smoothing her skirts with her hands, Susan looked at the floor, searching for a realistic answer. The first one to come to mind was obviously that she there was still possibly something between her and Edmund, but she had long since reasoned herself out of that. She went for the next possible response. "It's just that you're being incredibly inconsistent. Why did you agree with her in the meeting, anyhow?"

"I agreed with what she was saying," he said, shrugging out of habit.

**A/N: While this chapter was loads of fun to write, I'm not exactly happy with the finished product, for example the whole, dead Prince Frank thing was in my early notes (like, my really, really early notes) and I had decided to drop it…but when writing this chapter it just sort of, spurted out, and I decided to keep it…what do you think? Please review and tell me! **


	18. Disobedience

**A/N: Sorry for the several chapter dividers, but they really couldn't be avoided…**

By the time dawn cracked, Lucy was out of bed, already in her cloak and ready to make a very familiar journey across the Western Wood. When she had followed Peter out of her bedroom the previous evening, they, along with Caspian, sat around each other and decided on a plan of sorts to free the camp in the Northern Marsh. Even though Peter still largely wanted to take down the Ape first, he had to admit that getting more soldiers would be helpful, and he was big enough a man to admit it when someone had a better idea, at least something to work with while they tried to work out how to take Shift.

Caspian had said that there was a book in the little cottage across the wood that he had been living in that held a map of the Northern Marsh. If they could get there, they could help those in the camps. The adults couldn't take them there, and besides, if they could properly disguise Peter, Edmund, and Susan, a group of adolescents wouldn't be questioned for anything more than, perhaps, stealing from general stores or the like.

When this was brought up, Lucy agreeably volunteered, "I'll got and get it," she said. "I probably know that way better than anyone else, and there are some shortcuts."

"There are shortcuts?" Caspian had asked, "You could have told me about that when we were running straight across the whole wood."

Blushingly, Lucy murmured, "Sorry, I forgot about them."

"Are you sure you want to go alone?" Peter had asked once the whole shortcut debate had been settled. He knew, far better than Lucy, the dangers of the woods. True, she had made this journey hundreds of times before, but that was different. The Wolves would be out looking for anyone in those days. "Either of us would be willing to go with you."

Lucy nodded. "I'll be fine."

Peter had forced himself to be agreeable, but before Lucy left the next morning, pulled her aside and whispered in a brotherly way, "Be careful, stay on the path that you know the best, and don't talk to anyone. Okay?"

When Peter said this, Lucy remembered a similar thing her mother had said, telling her not to speak with any strangers the Professor hadn't first introduced her to. Well, she wasn't exactly the most obedient when it came to that. Perhaps she would make it up. She nodded and disappeared out the door.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Edmund stared out the murky window in the attic, looking through a hole he made from wiping his now dirty sleeve on the glass at the bright red form leaving for the wood. He wasn't thinking about anything, really; he didn't have anything to think about.

He knew that in seconds, once Lucy disappeared into the woods, everyone would return to the attic, and this wasn't exactly something he wanted. At the moment, Edmund was rather hung up on being alone; he didn't want to talk to anyone at all.

Stealing quickly down the stairs, he decided to simply wander around in the halls. Perhaps it wouldn't be the smartest thing if the house got searched, but it hadn't gotten ransacked so far, so why should it that day? He couldn't live his entire life being afraid of being found. Even better, if he was found, perhaps he could give the Ape what was coming to him, provided they didn't hang him straightaway.

Because it was where he always went when he was out of the attic, he automatically went into Lucy's bedroom. There wasn't anyone in there, obviously, and it was darker than he was used to. Shaking his head at himself, he turned around to go and wander around somewhere else, when a part in the drapes let in some light, only to catch and reflect on something bright red and shimmering.

Edmund spun around, could it be? Was it possible? It was. Lucy had just left the juice of the fire-flower on her bed, a little under her pillow, but he could still see it in plain sight. He rolled his eyes in thinking about the idiocy of the juice's caretaker. Just leaving it out like that, for anyone to take. He felt a rather cruel smirk take onto his lips, perhaps he should show her that anyone could saunter in and take what she was supposed to be guarding. Of course, what was a better way to show someone something than through example?

With the vial tightly in his grasp, Edmund turned around and wandered out of the room.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

It was unseasonably chilly out of doors, dew collected on the grass and leaves, leaving the bottom of her skirts wet. The ground was hard and cold against her slippers, but her cloak helped keep her warm.

Largely, this familiar walk was just like any other; she kept her hood up for the beginning, walked swiftly and silently, thinking. The forest was quiet, only a few squirrels or other dumb beasts chattered in the trees. Although it was still chilly, Lucy was able to enjoy some of the scattered sunlight fall on the forest floor.

She had a basket under her arm, as she knew the journey would take all day, and she would be needing lunch eventually, however, it was beginning to get heavy inside the crook of her arm, and she soon decided that she needed a bit of a rest from walking about.

When she rested on a fallen tree stump (not a Talking Tree, of course) she felt her stomach begin to rumble low. Although it wasn't time for lunch quite yet, Lucy decided that it wouldn't hurt to have a quick snack.

She opened the cloth on top of the basket and saw something red catch the light above her. Her first reaction was to quickly cover the basket again, but she paused. She didn't take the juice of the fire-flower with her; she wouldn't have, not after being told repeatedly by both Peter and Caspian to leave it behind for safety measures. Besides, she thought, it doesn't reflect the light in the same way, and it wasn't nearly as pretty. Instead of covering the basket yet again, she carefully lifted what caught the light and confused her, a small bottle of cherry jam. She smiled at her own mistake, before a loud voice that seemed to come in squawks rather than words from behind and above interrupted her.

"Would you mind sharing that?" it called, and Lucy spun around in her seat in just enough time to see a rather large Crow, black as night, fly down to sit next to her on the stump. "I haven't eaten in days!"

If you were in Lucy's shoes, you might have a hard time deciding what to do. Peter had told her to not talk to anyone, and the Crows were known to be working for the Ape, but the poor creature just looked awful. He was as black as he was because his feathers had lost all their shine, he had little leaves and twigs and all sorts of debris ruffled into his feathers, and that's not even mentioning that his beak and claws looked rather ingrown and torn. He looked in worse condition than a dumb crow pushed out of its nest.

After much inner debate Lucy said, "I don't suppose it would hurt to give you a little bread." Reaching through her basket, she searched for a piece of bread. She threw it down to the Crow (who, thankfully caught it in his beak) and stood to leave. That really seemed to be the only good option, that way she could help the poor creature, and not completely violate her promise to Peter.

"You're leaving?" The Crow squawked and was up in the air, flying beside Lucy. "Right now? But we just settled into lunch!"

"I'm sorry," Lucy persisted, "but I really need to be going…I'm not supposed to talk to strangers…and I really do need to go."

"My name's Bag-ear!" The Crow said rather proudly, "There, we won't be strangers as soon as you tell me yours."

A queer feeling in her gut told Lucy to lie. She didn't necessarily want to, but something came over her, and as soon as she realized that she lied, it was gone. "Red," she said softly.

"Red?" Bag-ear asked, cocking his head, clearly confused. "That's a color!"

"I know," Lucy said. "But I've been called that for a while now," not a total lie, but she began to feel a tightness in her stomach and didn't know if it was from lying or her intuition telling her to get out.

"Where are you going?" he piped, flying beside her when she continued walking.

Lucy hesitated, unsure of what to say. Her stomachache was getting worse, and she stuttered in her throat. Eventually, she managed to say, "Oh, only to a little cottage; a friend of mine left a book there and I have to get it for him."

She didn't want to continue walking with the Crow, but he wouldn't leave her side. Lucy nearly doubled over from the tight feeling in her stomach, and kept on trying to insist that the way she was going was far out of the Crow's way anyway, therefore, sending her deeper into the wood, and farther away from the route to which she was so used to.

What a predicament this was! Not only did the very nature of her person forbid her to just tell Bag-ear to get lost; ignoring him was making her feel bad, but she felt like she ought to get away as soon as possible. It felt dangerous, and Peter's voice kept on echoing in her head, "Be careful, stay on the path that you know the best, and don't talk to anyone." She had already disobeyed it entirely. Her stomach battered about with discontent. Was it her fault? Should she had not given bread to Bag-ear in the first place?

The Crow must be so lonely, she thought, but couldn't help but feel that something was very, very wrong. She knew that something was wrong, and wished that Bag-ear never even asked her for some bread. Lucy was never one to wish people away, but that was the exception, as every bone in her body was screaming at her to get away, but how could she? If she just turned and ran away, he would surely follow her, and it would raise suspicion. She was saddled with this Crow; she made her bed, and now she had to lie in it.

She remained silent for the most part, scarcely listening to the Crow's constant prattle, trying to find a way out. This went on for at least two hours. Soon, she could see a scarce outline of Caspian's cottage through the trees. She had to lose the Crow, somehow, and she would try, harder if need be, if only she could get a straight thought in with her stomachache.

"My murder left me," Bag-ear squawked pathetically, not noticing Lucy's distress. "I don't think I have any friends anymore!"

"It can't be all that bad." Lucy insisted, letting that adorable, but sometimes annoying as hell, Good Samaritan nature take over for a moment; he was rather pathetic. Perhaps, added to just getting him to stop crying, she could get him to fly back to where he came from, to look for his murder; it crossed her mind more than once. "Perhaps you only got lost, or something. Maybe they're looking for you right now."

The Crow shook his head rapidly, "No! They aren't, and I know it. They're always saying, 'Bag-ear,' they say, 'you can't do anything right. You can't swoop down and peck anyone, you can't scavenge like any other Crow, you can't even guard the king well!'" He flew up and saw the cottage above the bushes, "Is this your house?"

"Guard the king?" Lucy echoed, now officially mortified, remaining in place. Up until that point, it had just been a feeling that something was going to go wrong, and now she knew it. Not being one for creating up schemes on the spot, she simple acted on first thought for this.

Without answering Bag-ear, she entered the little cottage she knew so well. It looked exactly like it had the last time she had been there. Although, perhaps, a bit dustier.

She found the book lying under a history novel about King Frank III, and shoved it underneath her cloak. Next, she grabbed a bronze key that was also lying on the table.

Slowly, Lucy went around to every window and made sure they were all shut. Bag-ear followed her, constantly asking what she was doing, and sometimes adding in, "You know, all my murder's ever used for is for intimidating the king or trying to find out where the princes were…and you know what else? Even after I found them, I still wasn't recognized. Another Crow took the glory for it. Well, you know what? I saw them clear as day, I did. And how do they repay me?"

He must have been awfully stupid, going on about all these private matters with a complete stranger. Or, perhaps, just very lonely.

Either way, she couldn't remain with the Crow, it was too dangerous; she started towards the door, and turned to Bag-ear. "Do you think you could go off to the loft and make sure the window up there is shut, please?" She honestly did wonder if she forgot to shut that window.

When the Crow flew up towards the loft, she made a mad dash for the door. Bag-ear noticed what she was trying to do, and dived towards the shutting door, but Lucy shut it too quickly. The bronze key fumbled in her fingers, but she managed to lock the door.

She couldn't help but feel a twinge of guilt for this, he really didn't seem that bad, but her stomachache was relieved. Besides, he could find a way out if he really wanted. She just couldn't have him following her all the way and finding Peter, Susan, and most importantly, Edmund.

A breeze flew by her face, and with it, she thought she heard a whisper. "_Lucy?"_

"Yes?" she asked, wondering if the wind was really speaking to her, as she had read stories about it before, but it wasn't considered a usual thing in Narnia, or if it was a dryad or something from afar.

The breeze turned immediately and hit her face in the other direction. "_Go home. Now. You're in more danger than you realize. But, be wary. When you return, you will be faced with another danger. As far as that goes, don't think; do. Go. Now!" _

Lucy dropped her basket, but kept the book under her arm, as she ran back the way she came, at breakneck speed, as the wind that had spoken to her helped her all the way.

XXXXXXXXXX

It's funny how fate sometimes works, all at once. For, as Lucy raced all the way back to the Professor's two other things happened.

The first thing was that, Bag-ear, in finally finding a way out, flew up the chimney. As he hovered just above the hole, he muttered to himself, "How rude! She locked me in! That just goes to show you; _never _trust a girl named after a color. No, no, no. It always turns out badly."

As he flew through the trees he was still muttering darkly about never trusting girls named after colors; no Violets, Lavenders, Yellows, Blues, Heliotropes, Greens, Suzie Browns, or, as his newest encounter proved, Reds. He had had a nasty track record with girls named after colors.

Suddenly, the black as midnight Crow found himself surrounded by the insides of a hunting net. Looking up from his beady eyes, he saw the menacing forms of war-hardened Telmarines surrounding him. They were on their way to set up a camp near possible battlegrounds and wait further instruction for an invasion, but had, evidentially, got either hungry or bored and decided to have a hunt on their way.

There was only one thing for the Crow to do; beg for mercy. "Please!" he cried, or well, cawed. "Don't eat me! I am a Talking Crow of Narnia! Don't kill me! Please! Wait! I know something that can make your army entirely infallible!"

Might I point out now, that they most likely weren't going to eat the stupid thing, and he possibly could have found a way out if he had kept his beak shut, alas, that didn't happen.

The soldiers filed out of the way, to reveal the Telmarine lord who was also on this hunting trip. The tall man leaned down to get into Crow's face and asked, in a slow accented slur, "And what would that be?"

It's a bit of a given that Bag-ear would tell them all about the juice of the fire-flower.

The next thing that happened happens to be my source of shame to this very day. Back at the Kirkes' house, Edmund leaned up against a crate, looking at the vial, heart pounding through his head. He had often imagined what it would be like to finally drink it, and be powerful, but now the fact that it had side effects really came rushing to the young boy's mind, and he wished he knew what it would be like. He was so close to finally drinking it, and finally getting what he had waited for, oh so patiently, for five years, but the pounding through his head stopped him from acting too rashly, or perhaps, made it so he would.

It also happened that he wondered what would happen when Lucy came back and discovered that he was a thief. Because he was so nervous, he wasn't thinking straight, and so, he thought that she would probably go and run to Peter and tell on him. Just like a girl, he thought hotly.

He worked to trick himself. In his mind, he convinced himself that it wasn't for him, really. With it, he could save Narnia and then give the Telmarines a good licking too. Not to mention, he'd get the credit for once, but that wasn't even a major part of it, really. He could go to Cair Paravel and defeat the Ape, and with that, all of the Crows and Wolves that had worked for the Ape would beg for mercy. Sometimes in his mind, he let them live, but only inside a dungeon. Other times his imagination took a rather violent view, stationed on the idea of an eye for an eye.

Edmund tried to shrink the idea that he wasn't supposed to drink it away from his mind; he had been listening to Lucy too much. It had had a label that said 'Drink Me' before, hadn't it? Wasn't it obvious then? And it wasn't as though he was blindly drinking anything from a random vial he found on a table; he knew what it was, and he thought he knew exactly what it would to.

Before his conscience could attack him any longer, he pulled the stopper, threw back his head, and put the vial up to his lips.

This juice of the fire-flower had a queer taste. It was as though it should have been very sweet tasting and good, but with a nasty aftertaste. Obviously caused by the mixture of magic and science. He was only able to get a jolt of it, perhaps half a shot glass worth, because he began to feel dizzy instantly.

The room shook and spun, everything blurred and turned misty. He was on the ground in half a second. His heart pumped in every muscle and tissue of his body. At first it was painful, and then, after a moment, his eyes began to adjust to the dizziness; it didn't subside, but only became friendly. His breathing became heavy from ecstasy; that's what he felt. Pure ecstasy, he could take anything, he could do anything to anyone and not give a damn. He was better than it all. When you get down to it, he never felt more alive.

However, there's a very fine line between alive and dead.


	19. Sin and Salvation

**/!\ This chapter contains some content that might be questionable. There isn't anything too bad, but nevertheless, reader's discretion is advised.**

Edmund had done a lot of stupid things in his life, but nothing worse than when he was under the influence of the fire-flower juice. Yes, it's true that he had gotten angry at everyone and managed to give Caspian a nosebleed and a fat lip, and then use Peter to break a crate, but looking back on it, although he felt terrible about doing these things, nothing haunted his nightmares as much as Lucy's face when she hit the wall.

He had been in the middle of a bare-knuckle fistfight with Caspian, and I'm sorry to report that I don't even remember what it was about. I don't remember half the things that Edmund did during this time; it's hazy and mostly a blackout for me. I just have to rely on what others have told me, and no one really remembers what it was. However, I think they were fighting because Edmund had made a rather crass comment regarding his brother and Susan, and Caspian had defended them. Or perhaps Caspian just yelled at him for shoving Peter around like a rag doll. Whatever it was, it put Edmund's blood into a boil, and he started the fight.

There are only two things that I remember vividly from this time, one is Lucy's face, and another is what Edmund felt while all this was going on. The ecstasy never left him, not even when he became furious. This is a contradiction, and I apologize for it; I know, it's confusing. Quite frankly, he was ecstatic to be furious. This meant that he could show them all what he could do. He wanted to exercise it, and never mind that these were people he, when he was himself, could call friends. But the fact of the matter is that he wasn't himself. If you were to ask him his own name at this point, he wouldn't be able to tell you; he forgot everything but the feelings of power.

He and Caspian circled around each other, fists upward, trying to decipher each other, oddly similar to their friendly swordfight, only in a much more dire circumstance. Edmund's sight was fairly bad at this time, blurred and dizzy, but he felt as though he could still do anything, as though that was the way the world was supposed to look, and everyone else's eyes were the ones who were blurry.

Caspian was actually able to sock Edmund twice, once in the jaw and once in the ribs, but that was all he got, considering Edmund was fast, and strong would be an understatement.

Suddenly, just as Edmund was about to deliver a rather painful-looking punch to Caspian, a distressed voice cried out from the corner of the room, "Stop it!"

Lucy stood there, just having run up the stairs, her chest heaving and she was visibly trembling. Looking from Caspian to Edmund she felt as though she wanted to run and hide, but she wouldn't. Edmund caught her eye, and she was momentarily petrified. Not only did Edmund have an uncharacteristic fire in his eyes, housing complete blind fury, but it was what was under his eye that was the most obvious difference, or rather, what wasn't. His scar was gone.

"Please, just stop it!" she cried again, trying to get in between Edmund and Caspian. This time, she managed to get some sort of attention, but not in the way she was looking for.

In half a second, Edmund had Lucy by the arm and slammed her against the wall. When she hit, it didn't hurt her, there was too much adrenaline pumping through her from running to let anything hurt, but she was frightened out of her mind. Her eyes were wide and her mouth agape; the trembles she previously had turned into full out shaking.

He didn't want to hurt her, to be honest, and he wasn't trying to. With his mind hazy, and twisted logic having free reign over his mind, he figured that this would show her that she should have given him the vial in the first place. Look how strong he is! And things like this. I hate all of this perverse reasoning; it makes me sick, even now, to think about it all.

Both Peter and Caspian had to be restrained by Susan from pulling Edmund off of Lucy. He was too strong to be pulled off by either prince. However, they both looked like they were going to slaughter Edmund if they had the chance. It was one thing to attack them, but another entirely to charge at a girl, smaller and younger than him. The fact that this smaller and younger girl was Lucy also affected this as well.

Edmund continued to hold Lucy onto the wall by pressing his hand against her collarbone and keeping firm grip on her wrist. Although he was seeing everything without color, and fairly blurry, nothing was more sharp or colorful than Lucy's wide, bluer than anything eyes. I don't know how it's possible, but he could also see every last bead of sweat on her forehead, but the rest of the room blurred.

Once the shock was over, Lucy reminded herself not to think. She tried to push him off, but it didn't work, she didn't even know if he felt her struggle. Without thinking, she screamed, "Let go of me!"

"Why should I?" Edmund's voice was little more than a low, dangerous growl. He truly seemed more animal than human.

With a high-pitched crackle, Lucy's voice bawled, "Because you're scaring me!"

Her voice seemed to echo through the room, or at least to Edmund, and his eyes dropped. Letting out a slow, confused breath, he let her go, little by little, but nonetheless, he let her go; looking lost and confused.

When Edmund took a dizzy step backwards, an arrow flew, pinning his arm to the wall by his sleeve. He growled again, and tore the arrow out of his sleeve, eyes smoldering, but then his eyes ticked to the side. There was Lucy, crumpled on the floor, watching him with the same frightened eyes she had no more than a minute before. Peter was kneeling beside her, but she didn't even seem to notice. There was something in her that made Edmund drop the arrow, look at everyone in the room; they were all black and white, and hazy. He began to feel sick, and more like himself; he didn't feel powerful anymore. On the contrary, he felt weak, little, and even scared. Slowly, he backed away and then broke out into an all out run to the sanctuary of the back rooms.

Lucy remained in full-out shock for most of the evening. She stared into the fire up in the attic, with Caspian at her side, talking to her with an arm around her shoulders. Even having been given tea, she couldn't drink any. She couldn't do much except stare into the fire; Edmund had been so frightening. He didn't hurt her, but from the way he slammed her, it seemed as though he might have. He hadn't been the same person; while he was holding her to the wall, there was no trace of the good person Lucy saw in him that time.

Peter was standing off to the side, with Susan kneeling behind him, both parties would have been blushing furiously, if only they weren't in shock halfway was much as Lucy was. Susan pressed her hand on Peter's lower back, "All right, does this hurt you?"

"A little," Peter cringed.

"And this?" she lowered her hand.

"Yes!"

Susan stood, "I think your tailbone's fractured…I'm not a physician, but it definitely got hurt when you fell on that crate."

"Great," Peter mumbled, and then turned his attention towards the back room. A little anger flared. "I think I should have a little chat with my little brother."

"Give him a while." Susan said, stopping Peter from moving forward. "It might not be out of his system yet."

They returned to the cushions where Lucy and Caspian sat. After a somewhat long process of finding a comfortable way for Peter to sit, they turned to the other two. All four sat in silence, there wasn't a single sound besides the crackling fire in the hearth and, if you listened carefully, the rumbling of Edmund taking his juice-induced rage out on various fragile items.

"Why did you shoot at him?" Lucy asked quietly after a while; she was certain she'd seen a sort of remorse in Edmund's eyes when he loosened his grip on her, or at least, she'd like to think so.

Susan blinked, "It looked like he was going to hit you."

He wasn't, actually, but Susan was just as disoriented as everyone else, you can't blame her.

With this, the attic dove back into complete silence. Later, they wondered if, and when, they should tell the Professor about what happened. The floor was so thick that they could get around without telling the Professor or Aunt Polly a thing, but it wouldn't be right to do so. They all decided to tell the adults about the mishap without giving the precise specifics.

One by one, they decided to sleep. Lucy was the first; she can't really be blamed for this, being in shock and all. Caspian was next, huddled up in the far corner of the cushions. Susan dropped off after that simply from lack of communication with anyone.

Peter was the last one awake, and he didn't want to go to sleep before giving his brother a piece of his mind. So, he stood, taking a while to do so because of his tailbone, and went towards the rooms in the back to seek out Edmund.

When he found his little brother, the younger boy's scar was back. The juice had run its course out of Edmund's system, and he was punching an old sack of flour he found.

Peter tried to will himself to stay calm, but found himself unable to, and simply snapped, "What the Lion's name was all that about?"

"I don't want to talk about it." Edmund mumbled between punches. He was feeling sick, like he should throw up, he felt weak, as though he was going to collapse in mere seconds, but he kept on pushing himself.

"Well, you're going to." Peter said, adamant, and he would have sat down to prove his point, if only it hadn't hurt too much to do so. "You owe me that much after all that."

"What do you want me to say?" Edmund asked, stopping the pummeling of the flour bag. "I'm a thief, and I suppose hurting you makes me a traitor, too…what exactly did I do to you?"

"You don't remember?" Peter blinked. "You threw me against a crate."

Edmund wanted to cry, "I don't remember anything up until Lucy came in…but I remember that I got you on the ground somehow…I don't feel so good."

He rushed to a spittoon in a room across the hall, and quickly got sick. Peter followed him into the room, and waited for his brother to finish. "You stole the juice, didn't you?"

While Edmund was a bit tired from throwing up on an empty stomach, he did explain to Peter what he did, from stealing the juice to what he remembered. After he finished, he braced himself for his brother's reaction, even though he wasn't quite ready for it.

"Of all the poisonous beasts! You just have to make everything worse, don't you?"

"Would you shut up?" Edmund heaved again into the spittoon, his head felt like someone had used it in some sort of kicking game.

Peter paid no mind, but continued. He was going to get through to his brother this once. "Did you even begin to think about what could happen to everyone else?"

"Not really." Edmund snapped. "I didn't know that I'd lose control or my conscience or whatever it was. Or that I'd forget most of what happened. I didn't know. I just figured it'd be a power-boost."

"And now you don't know what you did to everyone. Listen, you reap what you sow. You pretty much just attacked anyone who spoke to you. Susan and I at least had an idea of what was wrong, but you just up and gave Caspian a fat lip, and then that with Lucy. I shouldn't even care, but you know that that was probably the clincher; being mean is one thing, but pinning her to a wall? She's not going to forgive you so easily, and you know it. I wouldn't be surprised if she doesn't want to speak with you at all again."

"Leave me alone," Edmund said, lost. "I want to go to sleep."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The clock in the hall struck twelve, and only a bit of dismal light from a candle shone on the ancient Narnian numerals, only to fade into black as the figure holding the candle passed swiftly.

A bit of wax fell onto his thumb and he held back a curse. To think, only a few hours before, had had felt as though nothing could beat him, as though he was the most powerful person in all of Narnia, perhaps even the world. But, after having been defeated by a frightened fourteen-year-old girl, he found that anything and everything could hurt him. He felt sick and every time something hit him, it was exaggerated ten fold. I suppose it was, what we call in Narnian, karma.

He blew out his candle once he reached Lucy's bedroom, and quietly entered, stubbing his toe on the doorframe. Cringing, he hobbled over to her bed; he couldn't see much, but as always, there was a gap in the curtain, sending milky white moonlight onto the pillow, which cradled a very familiar face. The girl herself was fast asleep, somewhere in between peaceful and restless.

Momentarily, he wondered if he ought to simply let her sleep, but thought that if he didn't talk to her then, he would talk himself out of it, or be compelled to keep everything inside, and he couldn't do that. If nothing else, let him apologize.

"Hey, Red?" he breathed and tugged on her elbow gently. "Wake up."

She was obviously more jumpy than he looked while asleep, because in half a second, an arm that had been casually resting across her stomach went flying outwards and smacked Edmund right across the nose. Again, I suppose this is karma.

The room became a good deal lighter as Edmund fell back onto his haunches, rubbing his nose. "Argh!" he cried, "I think you broke my nose!"

"Edmund?" Lucy said, still halfway asleep, sitting up in bed, holding a candle up. "Are you hurt?"

Although there were about a dozen sarcastic replies he could have used, Edmund simply stood up again, saying, "Well, no blood, no harm. You have a very strong arm, you know that?"

Lucy started to smile, but just then she woke up completely, and memories from earlier came back to her, and she frowned. "Why did you come here?"

"Oh, that. I wanted to talk to you." Timidly, he threw her back the vial; the red liquid began to slosh in the empty space, he wouldn't care if he never saw that vial again. He was never going near anything like it again.

Lucy caught it, but remained silent. Therefore, Edmund went on, "Could we, oh, I don't know, talk someplace privately?"

"I don't know if that's the best idea…"

"Oh, come on." He was beginning to get desperate, "Please. I need to talk to someone right now."

As though she was trying, and not succeeding, to be angry with him for what he had done, she softened her face, "You've never said please to me before."

Thankful that it was still fairly dark, dark enough to hide his blush, Edmund scratched the back of his neck, "Haven't I? Well, since you won't go anywhere with me, I might as well just say it here. I'm sorry. I'm sorry for stealing from you, for scaring you and all of that. And for being an ass from the beginning. You don't deserve any of that. I'm sorry, I really am."

"Thank you," Lucy said quietly. "Do you still want to go someplace else to talk?"

Edmund nodded, and waited for Lucy to lead him quietly down the hall. He thought it was somewhat amusing the way his wax candle hadn't burned nearly as bright or as tamely as the flame on Lucy's taper one. It seemed oddly symbolic in a way he couldn't place.

They reached a little sitting room on the second floor; blue velveteen sofas were placed across from each other, over a pretty, reasonably soft rug created from the fur of a panther of sorts.

Lucy lit a fire quickly, and the whole room filled with warm, yellow light. The entire room was small and didn't have any windows, Edmund noticed, and seemed rather like being inside a cave. It seemed like a rather comforting place considering all that he had to tell her.

"Why did you do it?" Lucy asked quietly, biting her lip, remembering how scared she had been when she was thrown against the wall.

Edmund looked at his hands, grimacing. "I was, more or less, high, Red. I didn't know what I was doing. I had some thought to it…but it was stupid. When you're up so high that you don't care about anything at all, you're going to come crashing down…and hard."

"Was there something else you wanted to tell me about?" she asked, settling into the sofa across from him.

"Well…" Edmund began, "a little, but you probably don't want to hear me complain anymore…"

"You don't think I'd understand?" Lucy asked, ever so slightly offended at the possibility that, after all he told her, he still didn't think she could understand him, but honestly, she wasn't sure what she was feeling. She didn't even know, at this point, if she completely forgave him yet. He had apologized, but she still wasn't sure.

Edmund cocked an eyebrow, "I think you're the only one who _could _understand…but you've listened to me talk and complain for too long…and, added to earlier…why are you looking at me like that?"

Please forgive Lucy for staring, it was only that he was surprising her to no end, earlier he was pinning her to a wall and going absolutely ballistic, both berserk and perverse, and now he came to her in the middle of the night to apologize and tell her all the things that she secretly wanted to hear, it was incredible. "What happened with you? You're so different."

"I had the nightmare of a lifetime," Edmund looked straight into her eyes, "but…it wasn't that bad, at the end, but it was terrifying."

"Tell me about it," Lucy whispered evenly.

Even though it seemed as though all Edmund did was tell Lucy of his troubles, he took a breath and began telling her about his nightmare.

It had seemed as though the second Edmund closed his eyes to sleep, he was already dreaming. He was back in Cair Paravel, although it seemed as though he was standing in an elongated, darker version of the bedchamber he used to call his own. He walked forward, footsteps heavy, no breath escaped from his lips. Shadows covered the room, except for in the way of a long window that covered the entire wall, from floor to ceiling. Edmund peered out the opening, and saw terror before his eyes.

The sky was deep red, waves of the sea black, crashing over each other in spiraling waves deep down in the depths. The beaches stained with the blood of a rough battle, it seemed as though no one got out alive. From inside the shadows, it seemed as though someone was slowly applauding him.

"Who's there?" Edmund asked, his voice laced with dreamlike suspicion, as his hand placed itself on the hilt of a dagger that he didn't even know he had on him.

A voice smooth as silk replied within the darkness, "You don't want to do that."

Edmund froze. That voice was too familiar for comfort. But, was it possible, even in a nightmare? Haplessly, Edmund watched himself come out of the darkness. Indeed, the figure just outside the confines of the shadows was identical Edmund, but older. This other Edmund appeared in his early twenties, with a tarnished silver circlet over his long black hair, fine royal robes, and a hardened look in his eyes. "Good show back there. Although, you could have given it to that stupid Telmarine more, but pretty good for your first time."

"What are you talking about?" Edmund wrinkled his brow at this figure that looked exactly like him.

"I'm talking," the other Edmund said, sitting down in a fine wooden chair, "about you finally getting what we wanted. Getting what we deserve."

Thinking as though he should be feeling a lump in his throat, Edmund cleared it. "And what's that?"

"Come off it, lie to yourself and tell me that you didn't feel all that. You took the juice of the fire-flower, and you knocked our self-important older brother off his feet. You can't tell me that you didn't like it. It's what we've been waiting for. Without the juice, you're worthless. You're, really, the third born. They were tired of trying to make a suitable prince. You're as good as the dirt on our brother's boots. Ever wondered why our own mother ordered us from the room before she died?"

Letting his lips tighten, Edmund said, "I was too young to handle seeing my own mother die."

"Like hell we were." The other Edmund spat. "We saw it anyway, didn't we? You know as well as I that she wanted to give Peter and Father some sort of special good-bye that we weren't included in."

"That isn't true!"

"Admit it!" The other Edmund sat rigid in the chair, "without the juice, you're that scared little motherless boy, worthless; mere rubbish born into a family too good for him. But, with the juice, we're better then everyone. We can do anything. It feels pretty damned good."

"Nothing," Edmund said through his teeth, "I did earlier today felt 'damned good.' I hate it all."

"Don't lie to me; it's insulting." The other Edmund yawned. "What about what you did to that Red girl? You got a charge out of that."

"No, I didn't!" Edmund shouted out.

"It's always the same song for us and the fairer sex, isn't it? As far as Red goes, we were trying to get the juice of the fire-flower and that slut Susan's jealousy—"

"Don't say that about Susan! She's not a slut, and I've never thought that!"

"Not even when she first left you for your brother?" the other Edmund raised his eyebrows to make his point, but then went on. "However, we aren't talking about your first rendezvous. You like her. Red, I mean. We both want to see her banged up against a wall again. Under different circumstances, preferably."

"Shut up!" He let his jaw drop. "I've never…I'm not like that!"

Shrugging, the other Edmund said, "Perhaps not now, but being in power may change your tastes."

"Being in power?" Edmund couldn't help but inquire.

"This," the other Edmund explained, "is what you've been working for. In the deepest catacombs of your mind, all of this is what happens when you get what you want. I've stolen the fire-flower juice, I've defeated the Ape, and we're High King."

"And that?" Edmund gestured to the violence outside the window.

The other Edmund peered out the window, "That? Mere casualties."

"No!" Edmund screamed. "I don't want this. I'm not…I'm not a monster like you!"

"No?" the other Edmund sneered. "Let's catch up with the score, shall we? You trick a fourteen-year-old girl into thinking she has your friendship to try and take something dangerous from her, and not to mention attempting to get your former girl jealous. Then you violently attack anyone who irks you at all…not even to mention that your aspirations of taking care of everything has been selfish since square one. Look at me and convince yourself that you aren't a sinful little bastard."

"Who are you?" Edmund felt his voice shake, and he reminded himself over and over that it was only a nightmare. He'd wake up any second now. It was only a nightmare.

No sooner had the other Edmund said, "I'm you" than the room was overcome with a sudden golden glow, and the loudest most terrible roar overtook the entire area.

From his back, Edmund looked up into the amber eyes of Aslan, more real and awake than anything he had ever seen in his life, even though he himself was still asleep. He kneeled and waited for the punishments he deserved from the wicked thoughts hidden inside his mind.

Back at the house, completely awake, Edmund looked at Lucy, waiting to see what she'd say, but he finished. "I know that this much of it was real, it happened, for real. I'm not sure how, but it did. And then, Aslan told me to get up and he talked to me about…" he hesitated, but Lucy put a hand over his.

"It's all right, what you and Aslan talked about is between you two, it's not meant for anyone else to know." Lucy smiled at him. "What was he like?"

Edmund felt like the weight that had remained on his shoulders was lifted. He smiled. "More than anything we've ever heard."

"And now what?" Lucy's voice broke after moments of silence that seemed to be the fad for the day.

"I'd like to start over, if you'd give me the chance." Edmund said. "I'll make everything I've ever done to you up, or may my heart turn to stone."

**This concludes Part I**


	20. Progression

**Part II**

The change in Edmund was anything and everything but subtle. Not only did he apologize to everyone up front, but he was willing to prove that he meant it, as well. He would often only do little things to prove this, but it really is the little things that matter in the end. He would make sure that there were enough cushions for Peter to sit on so that it didn't hurt him, he made nice with both Caspian and Susan, and was cheerful enough to make sure that it was actually enjoyable to be in his company. And what did he do for Lucy? He would leap onto the moon if she asked him to; he was willing to bend over backwards, entirely hung-up on making everything up to her.

What seems the most surprising, to me at least, is that Edmund had stopped asking for Lucy's company whenever Peter and Susan were getting on. The need to steer clear of potential flirting, while still vaguely there, was dulled; he realized that he wasn't jealous of them anymore. He had his time to share those same looks with Susan, and while it had been a good time, that's all it was, and he was ready to move on. He wanted something else. Something that he couldn't full wrap his mind around, something that, because of the nightmare he had previously had, felt guilty of; not willing to trust himself for fear of hidden intentions that could hurt more than just him. His own voice from his nightmare would come back to him whenever he was beginning to think about Lucy in a little too much detail. _We both want to see her banged up against a wall again. Under different circumstances, preferably. _No. He kept on telling himself that he wasn't like that, he didn't want to see Lucy held against a wall ever again; not under the violent circumstances it was, or the more lewd circumstance that the other Edmund seemed to have on his mind. Whatever was entailed in that, Edmund wanted nothing to do with it.

But back to the point, when Peter and Susan were getting on, he did direct his attention more towards Lucy than it was anyway, perhaps out of habit. This practice turned out to make Caspian feel rather awkward, but he would try to join in on the conversation with Lucy and Edmund, only because he knew better than try to get a word in edgewise when the older set was flirting

Caspian, being the good man he is, was able to forgive Edmund for the nosebleed and fat lip, in time. Sadly, that time without forgiveness from the Telmarine prince somewhat extends longer than this story does. Although Caspian took time to forgive Edmund, that didn't mean that he gave the younger boy the cold shoulder or anything. It was simply known that the youngest prince of Narnia didn't have the prince of Telmar's trust.

To be entirely honest, Edmund could live with that. It would have been harder if Susan decided not to forgive him (she, too, came around in time, but quicker once he shared that he had spoken with Aslan, and slower again when she found out it was in a dream). Hardest if Peter, his older brother whom he had always had a secret jealousy of, but always loved deep under his skin, had decided that he was, once again, a liar and refused to forgive him. Peter took the longer time out of him and Susan to forgive Edmund, but I suppose it was only because Edmund was his brother, and you tend to be harder with blood. Still, even if Caspian, Susan, and even Peter refused to believe him, however hard that might have been, Edmund might have managed. He had already gotten forgiveness from Aslan and he had come to terms with those inner thoughts that chose to torment him that same night. That allowed him to live with himself, knowing that he was different after that. However, as far as people separate from himself and the great Lion go, there was only one person who's forgiveness mattered to the point of making this new life worth living, and that was Lucy.

On a certain rainy day, Edmund sat on the bench of the piano he had found with Lucy a while ago. With nothing else to do, he pressed down on the first key, and listened as a light tinkling noise, so light it was hard to hear, came out of the instrument.

"I thought you didn't play." Lucy entered the room, smiling lightly, and sat herself down onto the bench next to Edmund.

Scooting over to give Lucy more room, Edmund admitted, "I don't. I can't even read music." He tapped on two notes on opposite ends of the piano, resulting in a rather loud clashing noise. "I'm just fooling around."

Straightening her back, Lucy placed her fingers just above the white keys, "In that case, mind if I join you?"

They moved on to pounding loudly on the black and white keys, some notes fit together somewhat well, but more so often they clashed and made sour notes. However, it didn't matter, considering they were enjoying each other's company, and that was what mattered. At lost last, they were friends completely.

"Say, Red?" Edmund asked, after a moment of silence when pretending to play piano became passé, "Would you say that we're good friends?"

Slightly taken aback, Lucy said, "Well, yes."

"I mean," he was on a roll right then, and barely heard Lucy's answer, "I know I used to be a little beast, but I'm not like that anymore…so there's a chance for us to become friends isn't there?"

"Edmund," Lucy grabbed his hands, "we already are friends."

Finding himself flabbergasted, Edmund started at their hands, something pulsed inside them, something that felt a little too much like electricity. Her fingers were slim, and her hand soft. Funny, how he never noticed what a deep blue her eyes were before.

"Sorry," he said, the moment his senses came back to him, and turned away from Lucy.

That night, Edmund lay on one of the cushions, staring into the dying embers in the fireplace. Caspian was snoring somewhere behind him, and Peter shifted uncomfortably in his sleep. Edmund's mind drifted to earlier, thinking that he might actually want to take up playing the piano, at first, but then the scenes in his brain shifted. Lucy had big, dark blue eyes; suitable for the innocent dreamer she could be. Hundreds of descriptions came into his mind, too many to even paraphrase, so I won't bother trying to repeat them.

He remembered that Susan had light blue eyes, and the only word he ever came up to describe them was static. He found himself deciding, without much effort, that he liked dark blue better; it was more beautiful, more innocent, more curious, harder to become angry with, and, most importantly, easier to love.

What had begun as friendly loyalty to make up for all that he had done wrong to her, turned quickly into an entirely voluntary devotion. People noticed, it was rather obvious; if Edmund had to choose between helping his still-injured brother sit down comfortably or check to see what was new with Lucy, he would choose the girl with the red cape.

Did he realize that he was starting to fall for her? My best guess is that he did; probably only in a small quantity, but he did. It made sense, if I'm going to break things down, Lucy was the first one who forgave him, and since he was so hung-up on making it up to her, he spent most of his time with her; as a result, he got to know her better. The little fact that he had liked her fairly early on, the little fact that he had tried so hard to suppress, was turning into more than that. Did he realize what exactly he was falling into? Was he aware that he was falling into something bigger than the both of them? Something that would go on to prove to be more than mere infatuation for the rest of his life, or even after? No, he wasn't at all.

Even so, Edmund quickly found himself searching busily for Lucy whenever he could. He'd seek her out for no other reason than to say, "What's up, Red?"

Most of the time when he did this, Lucy was only just settling down from her lessons with Aunt Polly, and would be putting away a book on literature, history, or arithmetic. She would turn around to face him, and say, "Nothing really, I just learned how to solve linear equations," or something similar to that.

Lucy was the only one who had lessons at this point. She was the only one who was forced into it; everyone else had the option. Caspian sat in on them, on rare occasion, to learn a thing or two, and to spend some time with Lucy, who was slowly becoming harder to get to, much to his annoyance. Peter didn't, not liking to move much in those days. Susan wasn't one for school anyway, and since Aunt Polly didn't really focus on the subjects Susan could feel smart about, she steered clear of it; mostly not wanting to seem stupid. Edmund had a bad track record with tutors, it didn't seem as though any of them liked him anymore once they tried to teach him the basic principles of algebra or attempted to get him to memorize a sonnet or two. As it happened, he liked the Kirkes, and didn't want Aunt Polly to dislike him after he sat in on a tutoring lesson.

It was probably a pointless precaution, because Aunt Polly liked all of the children. In all honesty, looking back, I might want to say that she seemed to like Edmund a bit more than the other visitors. Although, this is probably because he came down from the attic the most often, so he spoke with her the most, save for Lucy. If I were to tell you one of the children who didn't get along with Aunt Polly very well, it was Susan. True, the ladies had several things in common, including a rather rational worldview, but it was on a rather strong worldview that they disagreed. Aunt Polly insisted something that no one had ever bothered telling Susan, that she needed to act her age. When most adults tell children this, they're telling them to grow up, but not in this case. In this case, Aunt Polly was telling the Lady Susan to start acting seventeen years old, and stop acting twenty-one. She said that if Susan didn't knock it off, she'd be wasting every part of her young life wanting to be a certain age, and then when she's older, she'll spend the rest of that trying to be that age again. It seems like a rather cruel cycle, and I see Aunt Polly's point. However, it did agitate Susan.

"Why would someone tell me that of all things?" She had, more or less, griped when we returned to the attic.

Lucy had sat down on some cushions, in between Caspian and Edmund, who were already seated, and said, "I'm sure Aunt Polly didn't mean to upset you, Susan…"

While Susan tried to protest that she wasn't upset, Peter put his arm around her (if it was around the shoulders or around the waist, I'm not sure, but forgive me for not focusing on those specifics) and said, "Like Lucy said, Su, Mrs. Kirke didn't mean to upset you, and she only wanted to make sure you don't waste your life."

Susan made her lips thin, "I still think that her comment was in the worst possible taste." She paused, seeing the look that Peter was giving her, and sighed, "Still, I can't let it bother me too badly; they are being very generous to us."

Here, Edmund, who hadn't looked away when Peter put his arm around Susan, held back a snicker, and looked around the room for another person who found it amusing that Susan had just proved Aunt Polly's comment, and more than that.

"Su," Peter said, trying again to calm her, "it's all right. She was only telling you what she thought you needed to hear."

"Well," Susan, who was still rather agitated, said in that same overly proper way, "it's rather difficult to attempt to act one's age in my circumstances."

She was referring to having to live alone with Edmund and Peter. Having to worry about getting food and surviving since age twelve, and that someone needed to be adult-like when the brothers fought, and that only left her. Honestly, she was always a bit too keen on being a grown up her entire life, and there isn't much else I can say about it, or do about it. I'm thankful that Peter's able to manage her, even though that might sound sexist, and he always has been. It's a smart match, if nothing else. But, I think I'm getting ahead of myself.

Speaking of Peter, I feel the need to explain why they were still at the Kirke's home, instead of doing what they said they were going to; freeing the Telmarine-Narnians and all the others at the camps. I'm not just being stubborn or anything when I say that it was because of Peter, because it was. Or, rather, it was because of Peter's injury. However, they did spend this time working to create a plan. However, this was both useless and straining because no one quite knew what exactly they were up against. Without that knowledge, how could they possibly get out unscathed?

They knew that there would probably be Crows and Wolves to work around, guard towers, and all that. But, they did resolve to figure this out when they got there, since it seemed to be the only way. How to free the prisoners was one problem, but it seemed small in comparison to how to reach the camp in the first place.

"We're still being searched for," Susan reminded them, "and, even then, where would we hide the prisoners we help escape? If I was told where it is correctly, Aslan's How is too far away."

No one knew exactly what they were doing, but were all perfectly aware that, if they stood by and continued to not do anything, the Ape would win for sure. This knowledge crept up and down their backs, terrifying every last one of them, including Caspian, who was, honestly, fighting a war he wasn't even a part of.

Caspian was largely taken for granted at that time, I'm sad to say. Most of the time, no one thought to remember that Caspian didn't need to fight in this battle within Narnia, the only war that concerned him was the one with the Telmarines, not the one within the court of Narnia.

The first time Lucy realized this, she sat down next to her old friend in the quiet part of day, "Hullo," she said, "how have you been doing?"

Caspian returned the greeting, before asking, not too harshly, "What are you doing?" Usually, she was with Edmund during this time of the day, during most parts of the day, to be exact.

"I just wanted to tell you, that I like you being here. You could have gone back to your cottage, but you didn't. You're a great person, Caspian, and I just wanted you to know that."

They went on to have a full-on conversation after this, but I don't know exactly what it was about. You see, at this time, Edmund had been coming up the stairs, and only had the opportunity to hear this sliver of conversation before returning back downward.

The day finally came when Peter was healed up again, if he were younger, he probably would have spent a great deal of time that day sitting up and standing once again repeatedly, only to get the sensation that it didn't hurt to do so. However, because he was his age and because he was Peter, and didn't want to waste anymore time, they immediately began packing up, for a long journey across Narnia.

They couldn't pack more than they could carry in a light satchel on each of their backs, and so this is how they resolved to do it: they were not to pack a full change of clothes, but perhaps one of undergarments (Susan wasn't too terribly happy about this, and Lucy turned and whispered with Caspian for a long while after this was decided) so that each one of them could carry breads, tinder, and they were all to share one to two blankets amongst the five of them.

When they all decided to go, they gathered up around the entrance early in the morning, each of the boys clad in a warmish traveling tunic and leggings, and Susan in a green traveling dress she had found in a crate.

Peter pulled out an assortment of dark cloaks from behind him, and began passing them out, explaining, "It might get cold, and besides that, it will be easier to hide at night with them."

He and Caspian had simple cut black cloaks, stretching down to the floor with hoods that could go up over their eyes, and Susan had another largely simple cloak, though it seemed to be made out of a softer material, and had a fur trim around the hood and hem.

"Erm, Peter?" Edmund asked, holding out the cloak he was given, "This is a girl's cloak."

Blinking at what he had given his brother, soft velvet with a trim, Peter held back laughter, "Sorry, I must have grabbed the wrong thing." He thought on this, reviewing the fact that there was only one left in his hand, "No, I probably just grabbed one less than I was supposed to, that should be for Lucy."

"She already has a cloak."

"And it's bright red," Susan said, on the same page as Peter, "it's a good idea for her to have something that can be more camouflaged."

Knowing that Lucy was somewhat attached to the cloak, and her reasons why, Caspian said, "I don't think she'll like that idea too much."

Before any further mention of cloaks could come to light, Lucy came around the corner, tying the string to her own cloak around her neck. "What won't who like?" she asked.

Instead of actually answering the question, Susan blurted, somewhat aghast, "Why are you wearing that?"

Lucy's cheeks tinted pink and she moved the sleeve of the doublet she wore upwards on her wrist. Yes, you read that correctly; Lucy was wearing a doublet; white sleeves flew down her arms and a scarlet vest fitted around her chest. Actually, she was entirely clad in boy's clothing, what looked like blue sailor's breeches extended loose all the way down her legs. The only part of her attire that matched her gender was, technically speaking, the soft slippers fitted on her feet. (Her cloak could be considered unisex, since it didn't have anything fancy on it.)

"Well," she started to explain her reasoning behind all of this; "Caspian and I were talking…" she began.

"You mean he put you up to this?" Edmund asked, accidentally interrupting her. When she nodded, he went into a rather lengthy inner debate on whether or not he should thank Caspian for it, not even knowing why he was enjoying this as much as he was.

Shaking her head, Lucy said, "Well, no. He didn't really put me up to anything. We decided earlier on that I should wear something like this when we went to the camp. Just so that I'd be able to move around more easily. And, when we decided that we can't change our clothes, we thought it would be the best option."

"I don't know," Susan, who seemed to have the most issues with this, said.

"Oh, come on. Let her wear it." Edmund said, letting his eyes slip to look Lucy up and down as he said it. "It really shouldn't matter what we wear, at least not at this point. And, anyway, if we're just passing through a town, Red can just keep her hair inside the hood of her cloak, and pass for a boy." Feeling a few more sets of confused eyes on him, he turned red, and clarified, "You know, to upset numbers even more? If a Wolf is in that town, and we're disguised," ('we're' really only meant himself, Peter, and Susan,) "and with two other boys, it might throw them off enough."

Susan's hands were at her waist. "And how would that work? They don't know that we're with both sexes right now, why would it work in our favor to let Lucy go on dressing like a man?"

"Red was spotted," Edmund explained, "by a Crow, but spotted nonetheless, and the same Crow that saw us. Moron though he might seem, he was bound to tell all of Shift's minions when he got back. And they aren't so moronic. They're bound to notice the pattern."

The debate over what Lucy was supposed to wear went on for a little while longer, dropped when the realized that it didn't matter, and then resumed again when Peter and Susan tried to convince her to drop her red cloak for a dark one, to which she refused.

After this was all over, and Lucy got to stay in the attire she was wearing on her back, they all shouldered satchels assigned to them, and started out the door, but were interrupted yet again. Aunt Polly came down the stairs, "And where are all of you going?" she asked, knowing fully well where they were going, even though they never told the adults a thing.

None of the children spoke. They couldn't just out and say that they were going to the Northern Marsh to free all of the imprisoned. They didn't know why they couldn't, but no one could make the words come out. Perhaps it didn't seem quite like reality to them, yet. Either way, they couldn't say it.

Thankfully, Aunt Polly seemed to already know. "Do any of you children even have the slightest idea of what you're doing?" She waited. "We thought as much," she came down the stairs as she was talking, and now stood just before the group of teenagers. "I still want for this to happen, the prisoners being freed, as it should help in bringing an end to the war, and bring up the fact that people know what the Ape's doing, and that we won't let him get away with it, Aslan willing." She waited, and went on, "But you don't know what you're doing, and that's dangerous, I'm sure Prince Edmund could vouch on that. However, Digory and I have a friend of sorts up there that can probably help you. Now you all have to listen carefully," she spoke slowly so that they all could have this information. "In the northernmost point of Owlwood, there's a house, perhaps half the size of this one, with the emblem of a unicorn on the door. Knock on it twice swiftly, and once slow. When you're asked why you're in a hurry, tell them that the cuckoo clock isn't ticking. When you're asked why you have come, tell them that you're in between the paws of the true Aslan. When you're admitted in, ask for Tirian. He may be able to help you, and if he can't, he'll know someone that can."

Now with some sort of insight as to what they were doing, they stepped out into the early morning sun, preparing for the beginning of the end, and not knowing what would come next.

XXXXXXXXXXX

By now, I think some readers may be wondering how King Frank had been holding out for the past five years. I'm sorry to say that the obvious was true; to say that he wasn't doing well would be an understatement. Every night, the king cried. He cried for Narnia, for what was becoming of his country? He cried for himself, having lost everyone he loved, his wife, and all three of his sons. But, over all, he cried for Peter and Edmund. He cried thinking of what they were going through, as he was under the impression that Shift had them incarcerated as well, tears were shed in the fact that he didn't even know if they were alive, hurt, or terribly depressed.

The years had aged him drastically as well, he looked older to begin with, but now one would scarcely recognize him; his hair nearly all gray or white and wrinkles taking over his face. But, what he looked like didn't matter. As far as he saw, he was the disgrace of Narnia, a puppet, unfit to wear the crown he was forced to put on his head every day. It was as though someone had taken out a knife and scraped all of his insides out, making King Frank the mere shell of the person he once was.

He always begged the Ape for permission to see his boys. What a tragic sight that would be, seeing a king on his knees, asking for permission from an ugly ape. However, one day, he begged with more fervor than he ever had before; he felt the creak in his bones, the tremors of his heart, and he knew that if he couldn't see his sons again, or if this madness went on much longer, he wouldn't be able to feel the tremors of his heart anymore; he wouldn't be alive to feel them.

"Please," he begged. "It's been far too long. Too many years. Let me see my sons!"

"If you knew where they were being kept," the Ape kept his cool oddly well for such a lie, "it would damage our deal. But, if you must see your sons, I can arrange it when they truly have no breath left in their chests…"

"No!" King Frank shouted, his voice crackling and fresh tears building up in his eyes, burning them, "Don't touch them!"

"Then we stick with our original bargain. And now, you will leave my presence. I have more pressing matters to take care of."

What a low blow it would be for a king to be ordered from any place in his own castle. Surely it would have dug into the man's pride if he had anything left to be proud of. As the king left the room, having no choice but to do as the Ape commanded, he passed the very same gray Wolf that had jumped on Edmund all those years ago, although he didn't know this. A stupid-looking Crow and a frightened Rabbit accompanied this Wolf. The Rabbit was bound tight and frightening, whispers of 'Aslan forgive me,' darted out of his furry lips.

Shift turned towards the Wolf once the king was gone. "What news do you have, Maugrim? And pray that I like it, for I have the worst headache, I have. "

"Then, I'll try and keep this quick," the gruff voice of Maugrim said. "We have a confirmed source of where the fire-flower juice is." The Rabbit tried to move frantically in his restraints, "The Rabbit told me that a little girl has had it for the past five years. The princes were foolish enough to leave it unguarded, and she took it. She wears a red cloak, and we have been keeping a fairly close watch over her in the passed few weeks. She doesn't keep it on her person all the time. But, she has the princes with her. We know where the boys are, and we know who would know where the juice is. Everything would be in its place if it weren't for the girl."

The Ape must have been angry with Lucy's interference, and must have begun to think of all the ways she could get what was coming to her, because he turned to Maugrim with smoldering eyes, "Maugrim, I don't care how you do it," he said, "get me the juice of the fire-flower." Then he waited for a moment, and roared, "And bring that girl to me!"

**A/N: Please review on your way out; they make the rainy days of April (which are seriously rainy where I live…thunderstorms every night, no lie) a little bit sunnier…man, that was cheesy. **

***Oh! I did not think up the last line. My net-friend, Nat, who created the trailer for this fan fiction put it in said trailer, and I decided to put that in here…though I changed up the words a little. Anyway, credit for the last line goes to her. **


	21. Little Red Riding Hood

Despite the fact that they were pretty much just waltzing back into danger, with the threat of death on Edmund's head at the very least, the children were not terribly nervous or jumpy. They were simply too far away from the east to let it get to them just yet. Instead of worrying, they would walk onward, talking about simple things, like the weather, to distract each other.

The walking part wasn't anything new to Lucy, who had grown very accustomed to walking long distances, but the others weren't quite as used to this as she was, so they stopped several times. To summarize, they would walk for a long time, take a respite, and start up over again, talking to pass the time.

By the time they reached the border of the Western Wood, night had fallen. As much as they all wanted to simply collapse and sleep through the night just then and there, they knew they couldn't. They laid one of the two thick woolen blankets that was in Lucy's satchel on the cold ground, and tried to work out the rest of the sleeping arrangements, as it was a rather strange subject to discuss, as they all had to fit on one blanket. In the end, they decided to give the girls the blankets, and the boys had to settle for their cloaks. Naturally, the girls protested to this, considering their cloaks wouldn't be warm enough when midnight came around. With this being the case, they settled on a compromise. The girls would sleep with the blankets, but two of the boys would borrow the girls' cloaks, and the odd one out would have to share with the girls. Caspian ended up the one without a cloak, mostly because both Edmund and Peter didn't want to give off the wrong impression and didn't volunteer, leaving their whole group in awkward silence, during which Caspian mumbled that he'd do it.

So, Edmund lay underneath the feminine cloak he was forced to wear anyway, and over him went an older, bright red cloak. Willing himself not to try and memorize the scent, he tried to sleep, but to no avail; something was off. Almost an hour went by before he realized what was wrong. There was something off in the weight of the material over him. With a little investigation, he noticed a crudely sewn pocket concealed inside. When he reached inside this pocket, his fingers touched cold glass. He recognized the texture; it was the vial.

"She brought it with her?" he said inwardly. "Is she batty?"

The temptation to drink the juice was gone, but all of the unpleasant memories made him not want to sleep with that vial anywhere near him. However, what was he supposed to do? If he told her about it publicly, right then, it would just cause a row with everyone who knew she should have left it with the Professor, and honestly, rows aren't the smartest thing to get started in the middle of the night. He resolved to talk to her about it in the morning.

No matter how he tried that night, Edmund could not sleep. He kept on feeling the vial down over him. It was no longer a personal matter with it; he was never going to touch the contents again. However, the fact of the matter was that if it were discovered that they had it with them, it would make the entire group even more like sitting ducks than they were anyway.

He found himself looking at the stars, trying to find constellations. He had never realized that it was so difficult to pinpoint certain shapes in the sky. Eventually, he ran out of constellations to look for, and he created his own patterns in the sky. Up there was a shoe, over there sat two tigers killing each other over a scrap of meat, and, though he would never admit this to anyone's face, in the other direction are two people dancing in each other's arms.

Staring at the stars all night could get boring, and cold. Even underneath a woolen cloak he was cold. That's what we get, he thought, for not making a fire. Once the sky got somewhat passé (it is possible for some people, believe it or not), he listened carefully. He could hear crickets chirruping, and the subtle roar of the waterfall only a day's journey away. He thought about how he could hear it from such a distance, how loud it must be up close, and how it would probably seem like whispers in comparison to the roar of Aslan, still fresh in his mind.

He could hear twigs snapping, and he would always look around to see what caused it, merely dumb woodland creatures: deer, squirrels, badgers, and the like. He had never really thought until that moment how much life really was out and about at night, and only had the chance to wonder at it for a few moments until Peter started snoring.

XXXXXXXXXX

By the time they had crossed what is better known as the Frozen Lake (even though I have no idea why,) they were largely out of forests until they came up to Owlwood, so they had a new predicament on their hands. The fields and towns that they faced were a bit of a risky business. Wearing dark cloaks out in the heat of day would raise suspicion, but if they didn't conceal themselves in some way or another, chances of being discovered were raised even more. Travel by night, and sleep by day seemed to be the only option, although it made Edmund feel rather like a fugitive, and in a way, he was.

For some people, sleeping during the day comes easily, but for others? Not as much. Edmund would sleep fitfully with the sun in the sky, a scene of his companions changing each time. Once, he had woken, and Caspian was speaking with Peter about what seemed to be dishcloths, another time, Susan was braiding Lucy's hair and listening to her go on and on about something Edmund couldn't interpret, as he fell back asleep the second the image registered. Once, Edmund woke up to Peter and Susan becoming rather friendly; it wasn't something that he was supposed to see. He thought it was a bit odd seeing that, considering he had once been in the same position as his brother, and the fact that he had been there first was somewhat amusing to him. However, it wasn't a personal matter, not anymore.

During longer periods of the days, when he was awake, Edmund would talk quietly with whoever else was awake with him, when he was on his own, he would think about things, retell his story to himself in his mind (because, as of lately, he actually liked it), and once or twice, he caught himself watching Lucy.

One thing he didn't realize, even after thinking about it for hours, was why he felt so numb about their destination. He knew why they were going, and what they were going to try and do, but it didn't seem real, even after several days of walking through the night. This surprised him, considering he had experienced the Ape's wrath firsthand.

Whenever he thought about this aforementioned experience, he felt his fingers press against his scar, which also surprised him. He, more often then not, liked to pretend it wasn't there, and had never let anyone, but himself, touch it. He didn't even like people to look at it; it seemed as if they were seeing everything about him from being attacked and unable to defend himself, to what he was thinking at that very moment. To sum it up, he felt venerable whenever people looked at it, and even when he, himself touched it.

Around sunset, everyone would wake up, and brush the grass and dirt off their clothes (because of sleeping during the day, the blanket issue didn't matter anymore). This was around the time they would figure out where they were walking that night.

"We should get a little ways passed Beruna tonight," Peter said once, glancing over when Lucy chirruped out of surprised.

"We're that far already?" she asked, looking around, between her companions.

Susan sighed, "Lucy, if you're thinking what I think you're thinking, no. I'm sorry, but you can't stop anywhere to see any of your friends or family."

"I know that," Lucy looked at her feet. "Besides, my friend isn't even in Beruna anymore, I just thought it would be nice to see how Mum's been holding up."

With the final jurisdiction that Peter is rather famous for, he said, "Well, Lu, you know we can't actually stop and visit, but I don't see the harm in passing your old house, and maybe peeking in a window."

And so it happened. They passed through Beruna only a little while passed midnight. Lucy seemed to remember most of the streets in the little red-roofed town. The smile on her face hinted that things looked similar to what she remembered, besides the camp of soldiers sitting around just outside town. Making a mental note to go the far way around, so as not to cut through the army camp, they followed Lucy, as she led the way to her old home.

When they reached it, the other four began to feel a tad uncomfortable. The whole house was, perhaps, the size of a sitting room in the Kirkes' home, if not smaller. The wood was whitewashed, but had a yellowed tint to it anyway; the shingles looked loose, as though if a larger bird were to land on it, it would all come crumbling down. Even though the whole place looked little and depraved, it didn't look dirty. There was a little garden in the front with an interesting medley of vegetables and flowers in pretty rows, there was an empty clothesline, and a little tree with a swing made from a plank of wood and rope.

Lucy walked forward, and carefully peeked inside the window, and the others followed suit. The interior was even more modest than the exterior. Most of the house opened up into one room, with a fireplace, a table, and two rocking chairs. The wooden floor looked somewhat rickety and splintery, and the simple, cheap paint was beginning to peel off the walls.

"You used to live here?" Edmund whispered, and was greeted by a thump on the back of the knees from Peter, who was probably correcting his tone of voice.

Lucy nodded. "It hasn't changed very much at all," there was a funny sort of excitement in her voice. "My room was over by that wall, way to the right, you can see the door, and Mum's is passed that door, on the left. It looks like she's doing all right."

This last sentence seemed contented, like the matter was finally at peace. No one had really given thought to Lucy's life before she went to the Professor's, but it was an interesting thing for the others. All the others had known was parts of a life of nobility, or living like homeless refugees, they never saw the medium. From the way Lucy quietly explained everything, it seemed like she had lived more towards the bottom than the top, but still in a medium. She had never starved with her mother, and they had made it in their lives, and made it relatively happily. It was a new thing for any of the others to hear, and it made them all feel somewhat funny.

They reached Owlwood that night, right when the sun was beginning to rise. Lying out the large blankets, everyone kept their cloaks on their shoulders and collapsed into slumber for the first few hours of morning.

It was still fairly early when Lucy woke up to find Edmund looking at her. "What's the matter?" she asked, yawning.

"Nothing," Edmund shrugged, "well, actually…why did you bring it with you?"

"Sorry?"

"The vial," he clarified. "You have it in your cloak. I found it the first night, when I used yours as a blanket."

Lucy bit her lip, "I just felt like I ought to bring it with me. I don't know why, I just got the feeling."

"Well, whatever you do, don't let Susan or Peter know about it," Edmund shook his head, "at the very least, you'll get a lecture about how irresponsible it was."

Lucy smiled nonchalantly, but unsurely, considering her honest nature not wanting to keep secrets for very long. "Do you hear that?" she asked after a moment, "It sounds like there's a river nearby."

Edmund listened carefully, and sure enough, he was able to hear the low rumbling of moving water. "It does, doesn't it?"

Lucy asked, "Do you want to go and find it? It might be fun."

As much as Edmund wanted to go off and spend some time one-on-one with Lucy, he knew better from all his years of being alone than to go off without a word to Peter or to Susan. "You go," he said. "I'll stay here just in case someone wakes up and wants to know where you've gone off to."

"Thank you, Edmund!" she said, standing. "I won't be too long."

As it turns out, the river was very close by, and Lucy reached it in minutes. Because it had gotten very hot that day, the doublet was sticking to her back; she untied the string of her cloak, and hung it up over a tree before turning to look at the river. She watched the water rush by at a fairly fast pace, catching the light and reflecting it off to the sandy bottom, where fish swam by busily. In her mind, she pretended that the fish were going somewhere, some sort of carnival, or some sort of grand meeting of all the fishes in that river; perhaps they were going to discuss the current. Of course, fish don't really talk, as a rule, but this is Lucy we're talking about, and she couldn't help letting her imagination run.

If you have ever been tired to the point that she was, where you didn't feel tired at all because of so-called sleep that you had earlier, you know what happens after a little of physical activity, even that of walking; you come crashing down. Suddenly overcome by sleepiness, Lucy leaned in between a rock and a tree, and allowed herself to be taken into sleep.

This sleep was strange, or so she tells me. Even though she had been sleeping outdoors for quite a while, she was never able to get sufficient sleep, or even that equivalent to the sleep one gets on a mattress, but this quick nap was deep enough and comfortable enough so that she became fully rested only after one hour. I suppose it was Aslan or fate looking out for her, in light of what happened next.

She woke up a little while later, when the sun was fairly high in the sky. "Oh no," she whispered to herself, realizing how late it was getting, "I have to go."

Standing, she pulled the cloak out from its hanging position on a tree bough, and was immediately greeted with a loud snarl, and found that a scream had flown out of her own lips.

The biggest gray Wolf she had ever seen was waiting behind her cloak, coming forward with slow, terrifying steps. He snickered, "Well, if it isn't Little Red Riding Hood, all alone in the middle of the woods."

Lucy's heart started pumping in her ears, and she found that she was slowly, slower than even she was comfortable with, reaching for the vial. The wind's warning still held strong to her, even though it wasn't speaking about this; _don't think, do_. To an even greater surprise, Lucy found herself speaking, "What big ears you have."

"Just hand over the vial," the Wolf, who was indeed the servant of Shift known as Maugrim, said, "and corporate."

"And what big eyes." By now, she had the vial in her clenched fist, but she needed to keep the vial under the cloak, in case Maugrim should see it.

"Come on," the Wolf jeered this time, "this isn't your war. You don't have to think about all that's going on within the capitol. Make things easier and give me the juice."

Lucy's voice was starting to tremble, "And what big ears." With one hand she found that she was unbuttoning the vest on the doublet, leaving the undershirt loose.

"I'm growing tired of your games." The Wolf sank lower onto his haunches, preparing to pounce.

Surprisingly enough, Lucy then yelled, without the slight tremor of fear in her voice (although she swears it was there), "And what big teeth!"

With her words, she threw her one cloak over Maugrim's eyes and made a mad dash in the other direction, running faster than she had ever done before, which is saying something, honestly. Within minutes the Wolf was back on her heels, and she shook off the vest as well as she could, and threw it backwards at him. This only made him slower for a few seconds, but that's a few seconds advantage.

As far as throwing things at the Wolf to slow him down went, Lucy was out of options, she could try her shoes, but they weren't big enough to work too much to her advantage. So, she ran, faster than the wind, until she came up to a large tree, in which she hoisted herself upwards, and made it into the branches just when the Wolf was about to get her heels with his teeth.

"Somebody help!" she cried out, as loud as she could, the sound bounding off the very tops of the trees.

Maugrim chuckled, and reminded her that she couldn't stay up in that tree forever. He was ready to wait, and Lucy was out of ideas.

"Shoot, Susan! Shoot!" Suddenly, Edmund's cry rang out, and Lucy saw all four of her friends breaking through the trees.

"I'm out of arrows!" Susan yelled back, voice crackling in the air.

"How can you be out of arrows? What sort of idiot archer doesn't have arrows with her?"

"Do you have your sword with you?" Susan yelled, perturbed and frightened.

"Touché!"

In the time it took Susan and Edmund to have this little argument, Peter had already grabbed a thick stick, and was brandishing it like a sword, in attempt to keep the Wolf at bay.

The Wolf snickered. "You really think you can keep me off with that?"

Peter didn't say anything, only kept the stick pointed towards the Wolf, who circled him threateningly, egging him on.

"You think you're a king," Maugrim said, "but you're going to die like a dog!" He ended in a harsh bark, and pounced over Peter.

The next events happened so quickly, I don't think I can really sort them out. There were several cires of Peter's name as Maugrim landed overtop him, a silver hatchet whizzed through the air, and it wasn't until Maugrim was completely down did anyone realize that it hit him in the back.

Susan and Edmund quickly ran to push the Wolf off of Peter, and in seeing that he was all right underneath it all, the three ended up in a sort of group hug.

Caspian helped Lucy out of the tree, handing her back the doublet vest, which as it turns out, helped them to find her, that and her cloak, which had fallen in the river.

Once Lucy was completely grounded, and the group hug was over, all four of them joined in over Lucy. It wasn't for another moment that they remembered that there was a sixth party there.

Peter turned towards where the hatchet was flung from, to face a rather tall, figure, hidden in shadows. "Thank you," he said formally.

The tall figure came out from between the trees to reveal a woodsman, big with muscle, most of his face hidden in a brownish red beard. "I heard that girl's cry and thought I ought to help," he said gruffly.

From her place behind her friends, Lucy made a chirruping noise, similar to when she found out they were going through Beruna, although not as excited, and perhaps more anxious.

The woodsman squinted towards where Lucy was standing, sinking back onto his heels, he said blinking, "Lucy?" Once he got inner confirmation that this was indeed Lucy, he said, in a more commanding voice, "Lucy Rose, you have some explaining to do."

Caspian turned towards Lucy, noticing her flinch at the middle name, "You know this man?"

"I ought to," Lucy said, slowly nodding, "he's my father."

**A/N: I'm sorry if the beginning bits of this chapter were boring. Oh, and the ending bits of this chapter is what inspired this whole fanfiction, oddly enough. Please review! **


	22. The Woodsman

"Yes, sir?" Lucy asked, stepping towards her father and nearly trembling. She barely knew this man when she still saw him once every few months, but seeing him for the first time in five years, and in seeing the look on his face, sent her off-kilter, and she retreated into a nervousness that didn't become her.

The woodsman was going to say something more substantial, but of course, he had to get passed the surface, "What are you wearing?" he asked, possibly curious as to why his daughter was cross-dressing. I suppose that's understandable enough.

"Erm," Lucy fumbled on her tongue and fasted the vest back onto herself, "it's a doublet…they're easier than skirts to move around in."

"And you make a habit of this?"

Lucy scuffed her feet along the forest floor, "No. I just needed it right now."

It took quite a while to get the woodsman briefed on most of the situation, and even longer still to convince him he was in front of the princes, but like any Narnian, he had seen portraits of them a long time ago, and was able to know within a few minutes that he was in front of royalty. (He was never told about Caspian, who wanted to remain somewhat anonymous. Probably the best choice for him, all things considered.)

"Well," he said once his doubts on that matter were cleared, "my house is just a little ways farther if your highnesses would like a place to rest."

"Lead the way." Peter responded, his voice entirely on the regal façade that suited him so well.

I suppose I am sort of thankful that the woodsman isn't a complete cynic. As far as my thoughts go, there are only three things that I can be thankful for about this man. One, he saved Peter's life. Two, he's half the reason Lucy was born in the first place. Three, he isn't a complete cynic. Perhaps other people find more virtue in him than that, but, I apologize, I can't. We've never gotten along very well. I don't care for this company, and he dislikes mine. At that, at least, we have a mutual agreement.

As the woodsman began to press onward, the group began to follow him fairly closely, but Edmund followed more slowly, calling up, "Hey, Red, come back here for a bit."

Lucy, who usually did what she was bid from anyone, providing it wasn't against her ethics or she didn't have a reason not to do so, turned on a dime and went back to stand with Edmund. She completely missed her father's raised brow, but Edmund didn't. Truth be told, it made him somewhat nervous for himself.

"He really is your father, then?" Edmund asked when they started walking again, a bigger question on his mind, but he had to open up with something that seemed lighter.

Confused as to the nature of this question, not really knowing how awkward this relationship seemed to someone who had known the pinnacle of all fathers (if I do say so myself), Lucy nodded. "Yes," she said, "Mum says that I have his nose."

"I don't see it," Edmund squinted. "But I suppose your mother has gotten a better look at him than I have. That, and his face is hidden in that beard. I suppose beards look decent on some people," he said, willing himself to stop babbling, "but I'd never grow one."

Lucy brought her lips together in thought. After a moment she said, "Well, I don't suppose it would look terrible…but, I don't think it would look like you, you know?"

Giving her a look, Edmund decided to change the subject, as he wasn't getting where he wanted to quite yet, he'd change it around in a minute. "Your middle name's Rose?" he asked.

"Well, yes." Lucy said, contorting her face, "I don't very much like it, though."

"Why?"

Lucy's response seemed so simple when you stuck on the surface, but there was, honestly, so much more underneath it. "Roses have thorns," she said.

Ignoring his heart, which had decided to beat rather loudly, Edmund added in, "But they are beautiful."

"Another reason it doesn't fit."

"Are you sure everyone agrees with you on that?" Edmund said before he could stop himself, and afterwards had to dart his eyes away, unable to continue staring at the blue he found rather intoxicating.

Sighing, Lucy said, but slowly since she saw the queer way her friend was acting (I don't know if she understood why he was acting like this), "Well, yes. But, you know, if you have to have thorns to become beautiful, like a rose, and hurt those who want to love you, I'd rather have my own face any day."

It was at this point that Edmund realized how little he actually knew about Lucy. Sure, she knew enough about him to write his biography, but it wasn't a mutual thing. That wasn't fair. He made a decision with himself to figure out all he could before they had to save the camps. It was a bit of a stretch, but he figured he could do it.

"May I ask you a personal question?" he asked.

"Why not, since you're doing it already?" Lucy smiled.

In one long breath, Edmund was careful not to slur, "How come it too your own father so long to recognize you?"

"Well, he doesn't know me very well. Back before I was nine, he would always be working here, or in some other wood, and would come back, at most, twice a month. Sometimes it would be longer. I barely know him to tell you the truth," Lucy sighed again. "He doesn't know me either. That, and it's been a very long time, that's probably why it took him such a long time to recognize me."

They turned the bend, and although Edmund was going to say something on the matter, he got distracted. "Say, Red? Does your mother come with your father when he's up in the woods?"

"Not when I was living with her. Why?" Lucy asked, cocking her head to the side.

"That's why." Edmund gestured to the cabin in front of them.

While the woodsman's house was nothing in comparison to the Kirkes' home, it was bigger compared to the house in Beruna. Appearing to have two stories, the planks of log were in neat rows, barely overlapping at the sides, several glass windows greeted the walls, a stone fireplace sat unlike the concrete one in Beruna, there was a small porch, and the size was big enough to fit two of the house in Beruna side by side together (this still isn't very large compared to some of the places they had been, but honestly; it's the principle of the thing).

"Father?" Lucy called up, stepping quicker to catch up, "Is Mum here?"

The woodsman shot his daughter a surprised look, and said in his gruff voice, "Do you ever remember her coming up here?"

"No," Lucy began stuttering on her tongue, "but Edmund and I…we thought…well, I was…your house is so…but Mum…never mind."

It really wouldn't have been a matter to deal with if Lucy's mother had been there with them, but I can tell you for sure what Edmund was thinking, and I'm fairly sure that Lucy's thoughts didn't differ too greatly. He was thinking what sort of lousy husband and father would have a house, and a nice one at that, but continued to allow his wife and, for a time, daughter to go on living in that little shanty. It wasn't right, and he wasn't very impressed with the woodsman.

When they entered, they found that this house mimicked the open style of the one in Beruna, as the kitchen, dining area, and sitting room were all combined into one. Everything was bigger, and relatively nicer, but the house was dirtier too. It figures. If a man has to go and chop down trees all day, you can't rightly expect him to sweep for five minutes, or Aslan forbid he dust the hearth? I'm not an extremely clean person myself, but if I didn't have people cleaning things for me, I imagine I'd do some of it.

There was indeed an upper floor, about half the size of the first one, branching out about halfway in, more like a loft than a separate floor.

"Lucy," the woodsman said, "I think there are some tealeaves in a tin in the kitchen. Go and make a pot for us…no, that other one, beside the salt."

Once Lucy was set to work, the woodsman turned and invited the guests to sit. Apologizing for not having better accommodations, and saying that they would be able to stay as long as they wanted to. Perhaps it's simply the way he spoke, but Edmund got the feeling he wasn't truly sorry he didn't have better accommodations, and, from getting to know the man better, I feel like the only reason he said they could stay for a long time was because there was royalty among them, not because they were friends with Lucy.

"We are in Owlwood," Susan mentioned after a moment, "do you suppose we could stay here for a few nights?"

Caspian spoke next, "That might be a more comfortable plan. We need to get something together before we can do anything, it might pay to have some place to come back to."

"And we can't expect this Tirian fellow to take us," Susan said.

"What do you think, Peter?" Edmund said, he was the only one, other than Lucy, still standing. He didn't want to sit, although this might have help an impression to start for the woodsman, but he probably already had one.

Peter nodded, "It is a plan, and we do need one."

The children told the woodsman as much about their journey as possible, omitting certain things; the whole of the Resistance, as it was a more private matter, the fact they had the fire-flower juice with them at that moment, how Edmund got his scar. To make it more obvious, they simply told them that they were going to try to free the Telmarine-Narnians from the camps.

The woodsman had a look on his face that seemed to read, "No way in hell is my daughter going to try and free anyone from any bloody work camps."

Edmund read this look and mumbled inwardly, "Well, that is going to be fun to deal with."

Conversation was slow that day, as the woodsman acted with as much respect and what, for him, is proper mannerisms as possible, and wouldn't bring up any conversation, but waited for the others to bring it up. It was a bit of a difficult feat, considering the casualness the years had brought over the children.

Meals were slow too. Lucy was asked to cook them, and not knowing where anything was, it took quite a bit longer than anyone would have liked. Susan felt bad for her and helped her after lunch. This was a nice experience for the girls, as it gave them time to get along and enjoy solely each other's company.

The woodsman had to go out about an hour before dinner was prepared, he said he had a little job to do for a Mouse, and he would be back quickly. In the meantime, the boys found a deck of cards and entertained themselves with it. Caspian once volunteered to help with the meal, but was shooed away by Susan, who was actually having fun with Lucy; the two girls were actually playing a bit more than cooking, splashing water and flour on each other, messing up the recipe and trying to put it in the right again.

By the time supper was ready, the woodsman was back in his house. He sat down on the sides of the table, allowing the princes the ends and first seat down. Being entirely familiar with the way things work at court, I suppose I should at least give him points for trying. I don't know if I will, or if it would matter. Anyway, the woodsman sat down, and nearly immediately said, "As it seems you will be staying overnight, I'll have to find sleeping arrangements."

Don't break your neck doing it, Edmund thought, referring to his tone of voice; the woodsman was speaking as though this would be some sort of long chore, or at least Edmund thought he did.

"I'm afraid I only have one bed, but there are several mattresses up in the loft for the ladies—I used to share this house with two other families, and never bothered throwing out the other mattresses after they were cleaned." I think he coughed here, or he might had said some one-syllable word that I didn't catch, and then said, gesturing to Caspian, " And would you disagree to the sofa?"

"No," Caspian said, "not at all. Anything would be improvement to the ground."

Lucy, being the extremely kind person she is, asked, "What about you, Father? Where will you sleep?"

The woodsman then proceeded to tell her that he had a shed of sorts in the back that he can move one of the mattresses from the loft down and over to there, and he can retire there for the night. The way he spoke, to Edmund, seemed as though this was some sort of giant favor. They all would have been happy sharing mattresses up in the loft. What did he think they were going to do? Behead him for unsatisfactory hospitality?

Either way, they all agreed to this and began preparing the bedclothes and mattresses. Both Peter and Caspian helped the woodsman bring a mattress out to the shed he mentioned previously and Susan went to get water prepared so that she could wash her hair, this left Lucy and Edmund alone with nothing to do.

"Well, I've met your father," Edmund said, accidentally putting emphasis on the word 'father,' letting his dislike of the man slip. "What's your mother like?"

Letting the father bit slide, very well knowing that the man was rough around the edges, Lucy said, "Well, to start, Mum's a bit more strict than Aunt Polly, but not overly so; she isn't unkind to anyone at all. She's one of the most caring people I've ever met. When Gwendolen's family was having trouble, she set out immediately to help them, just because it's what she does. She really gets into making the most of situations, and what you have. For a while, she had a copper wedding band. But she didn't care. She told me she just liked being married to Father. And then, when they got older and got the money to get better wedding bands, she barely even wanted the gold one Father bought her." Lucy smiled, "What else is there? Well, anyway, that's Mum. I'd like to be like her someday."

"She sounds lovely," Edmund said, thinking very briefly of his own mother, taken away when he was still so young. Could he still remember her? Yes. Did he choose to? Sometimes; although not as often as one would think.

Lucy nodded. "She is. Maybe someday you'll meet her."

Finding himself inch closer to Lucy on he sofa, Edmund said, "Well, I'd have to visit Beruna for that."

"Yes," Lucy said, an unsure smile on her lips.

"And while I'm visiting," Edmund said, surprised at how quickly conversations could be turned on their heads. Weren't they only just talking about mothers? And then, quick as a flash, they were sent into a conversation about them, "I'll have to get reacquainted with you, Red."

Lucy wrinkled her brow, "Won't we stay friends?"

Realizing that he was probably getting too close for comfort, but made bolder by the solitude and easiness of Lucy's conversation, he said, "Do you want that?" He felt his fingers reach for her hand, the tips accidentally brushing against her thigh for only but a moment.

How hard it was, he couldn't help but reflect later on, to want two things that contradict so much, and to want to stop wanting something that he wanted. If it's too confusing, allow me to try to elaborate. He had spent quite a bit of time sorting through this thoughts and decided that, yes, the want for certain things was there, but he just had to keep control and let those things remain where they belonged; in the very, very back of his mind. Although when things like the abovementioned happen, they came forward again, and he had to silence it immediately.

While this was going on, the woodsman was coming back from the shed with Peter and Caspian trailing behind him. Neither one of them had a problem with him, nor he a problem with them. From what I've been told, Peter didn't read so much into his tone, and Caspian just figured it was his speech pattern. The woodsman must have, as I have never asked him for his thoughts on any of this and am left to my own guessing, enjoyed their company somewhat. I suppose he thought that Peter, at least, was stepping out to be cordial to him, and so he responded favorably to this little task.

"You have a strong build, Caspian," the woodsman noted at one point, "have you ever considered going into the woodcutting business?"

Shaking his head, Caspian said, "No, but I have made something of a hobby out of woodworking for the past few years. I might want to go into carpentry."

"In light of what you came from, Caspian," Peter said, "and of what we're hoping will happen, I don't think that is very likely."

"It's an alternative," Caspian shrugged.

What comes surprising to me is that the woodsman actually asked about Lucy quite a bit. "She's been doing all right?" Peter told me he asked.

Caspian, apparently, answered this one, "Yes; for the last five years she's been happy and healthy, for the most part. You have quite the daughter, sir."

"You have an interest in her?" the woodsman asked, with what I'm guessing was more approval that he's ever given me.

"Not in that way," Caspian responded. "She was my only companion for a very long time, and I only think of her like you think of a very close friend."

Seeing the woodsman's eyes, Peter put in, "It's almost the same way for me, as well. Lucy's like a little sister to me. I want to see her happy and safe in the same way I would a sister."

"And is your brother the same as you, your highness?"

Peter shook his head slightly, "I don't think his affections are directed in a similar way to either Caspian or myself. I think his are a bit more forward. Perhaps similar to my affections towards the Lady Susan."

This was a smart way to close the conversation, on Peter's part. A courtier might have asked what the relationship was from a third party, but no one, not even someone outside the world out courtly manners would be thick enough to ask this of a prince, considering he said it like it was a very public affair. Good old Pete; he knows just how much to say and when to say it. Unfortunately, even that didn't work too terribly in Edmund's favor.

**A/N: Misleading chapter titles 101! Sorry…this chapter was originally going to go in a completely different direction, but I started writing this in French and couldn't stop (writing straight through Algebra and Computers) so I ended up with this little ditty. Tell me what you think.**


	23. When Words Fail and Succeed

It's interesting how, in life, things can seem like they took forever when you look back on them, but before and when it actually happens it seems like a spur of the moment sort of thing. This particular occasion is no exception. For example, when I look back on this personally, it's something that I want to close my eyes and continually whisper, "Finally" over. However, when it was happening, it seemed like something that just happened at random; one of those things you set out to do when you're in that sleepless inhuman state one gets in when they're tired, but then getting woken up in a jolt and not remembering why you're beginning to do what you're doing.

Edmund wasn't able to sleep that night. Peter and Susan were both outside entertaining themselves, Caspian had been out like an extinguished candle for nearly an hour, and Edmund was left staring at the wooden ceiling of the woodsman's cottage. He couldn't help but think that if this happened only a few weeks ago, he would have been too petty to even lay on the woodsman's bed, which he and Peter were supposed to share. If Peter ever decided to go to sleep that night, that is.

Before Peter had left that evening, Edmund had called him over to where he was playing a game of solitaire on the bed. "Getting more one-on-one time with Susan in?" he had asked.

"Do you really want to know?" Peter's response came, reminding his brother that it was a somewhat personal subject, one that he didn't want to discuss with him. (It is a rather awkward thing to talk about, especially in these sorts of situations.)

Edmund pressed his lips together and said, "Why are you two doing all that? Right now, I mean. Don't you think it would be better to wait until everything's blown over for that sort of thing?"

Peter had sighed. "Actually, since we don't know what's going to happen, we're sort of making up for lost time. That, and I like her." Peter stopped and turned to the door. "We might not get another chance to like each other."

Edmund crinkled his brow. "You know, I think you're right."

Peter, who was nearly out the door at this time, turned around, "Really?"

"Yes. With things going on, you and Su might not get any other chance. Which means I definitely won't…what do I do Peter?"

"What?"

Edmund wanted to grit his teeth; it was difficult enough asking for this sort of advice from Peter; did he really have to elaborate? Instead he said slowly, "Make up for lost time."

"Oh," Peter nodded slowly, and cast his brother a look, "I see."

"So, what do I do?"

Even though it was terribly awkward for both boys, Peter said, "Well, how'd you start up with Susan a few years ago?"

Edmund shrugged. "I can't remember. I think we just kissed out of the blue one day, and it went from there."

"Well, that's one way of approaching things," Peter mumbled under his breath. Then he straightened up, "You might not want to take that road again. Probably why Su left you. Why don't you just try and talk with Lucy? Let her know what your feelings are."

Peter then turned to leave, before saying right before he disappeared, "Oh, and Edmund? Hurt her and I'll get you before her father has the chance to think about his ax. All right?"

"All right," Edmund said, rolling his eyes.

Peter told him to tell her his feelings. Of course, he thought, his own sarcasm biting, every able-minded boy in Narnia just up and shares his feelings. Still, there wasn't much else to do. He decided, after thinking all of this through; he might as well simply go up and talk with Lucy, with no expectations, just a small plan of letting her know. And he would do so subtly, not up and saying anything.

Soon, he found himself quietly treading across the house, quietly as to not wake up Caspian, and climbing that ladder that lead to the loft. It was sturdy, but it creaked a little. Once he had conquered the ladder, he couldn't help but note how far the loft out. He hadn't noticed before, but it went several feet out over the sitting area. If the loft suddenly decided to break out of nowhere, Caspian would be crushed.

"Edmund?"

He swiveled his head to turn and see the girl who called his name; Lucy sat cross-legged on a low mattress, scattered moonlight from the window above her head landed creamy white on her face, hands, and hair. She had taken off the vest to the doublet, having found it more comfortable to not have the tightness at her chest while sleeping. Her hair, which had previously been in braids that Susan had done, was down, and spilled overtop her shoulders, barely wavy from being braided before, due to the fineness of her hair.

"You can't sleep either?" Lucy asked again. Patting the mattress beside her, she said, "Do you want to sit down?"

Edmund nodded and approached the mattress, sitting down next to her; he tried to hide his cheeks, which were beginning to turn red. "Are you all right?" he asked, seeing Lucy's expression.

Nodding, Lucy said, "Well, yes. It's just that _you_ look nervous. Is something wrong?"

"No," Edmund said, "nothing's wrong. I was just thinking, I guess."

"What about?"

Edmund sighed, and tried to think about how to work out what was on his mind. Eventually, he said, "What are you going to do? Once this is all over, I mean."

Lucy blinked. "I really haven't thought about it. But I do want to see Mum again, so I suppose I'll go back to Beruna and live with her again."

Edmund couldn't help but think about this. If they got out of this alive, and if they succeeded, he and Peter would resume life in Cair Paravel, once again the princes of Narnia. Susan would most likely move back to the Lone Islands; Caspian would probably fight in their army until the war was over, when he would either move back Telmar or remain in Narnia, and Lucy would simply move back to that little shack in Beruna, and life would try to go on as it did before. But it couldn't, for any of them. After all everyone had been through, it would be impossible to do so; it would be like trying to squeeze in a puzzle piece that no longer fit.

"I don't suppose we'll ever see each other again after that." Edmund said glumly.

"Won't we?" Lucy asked, looking rather sad.

Shrugging, Edmund said, "I still have to visit Beruna, as I've promised. But, after that, there's no saying what's going to happen."

"Do you want to stay in touch with me?" Lucy's eyes looked somber and wide, the moonlight catching and making the highlights bright.

Edmund blinked. "Of course I do."

"Then we'll find a way." Lucy nodded. After a moment of silence passed in between them, she looked out the window again. "It's odd, but you can see the moon so clearly through this gap in the trees, just here. Come here." To Edmund's surprise, she then leaned back to give him more space to look.

He found himself, in the next instant, almost crawling over Lucy, to get a look at the moon; it was bright, round, milky white. But that wasn't what caught him. From this particular position, he was closer to Lucy than he had ever been before, and in a different way, and was rendered entirely into nervousness.

Being struck by this nervousness, Edmund found himself beginning to babble. "You know, you sort of remind me of this moon."

"What?" Lucy wrinkled her eyebrows, and seemed to be trying to figure out whether or not he was joking.

"You know," Edmund wished he hadn't said anything at all, but had to keep on going forward, hoping he could correct himself, "it's big and bright. And, by big I don't mean, you know, _chubby_. You're not fat." He flinched, wishing he could turn back time, becoming more and more panicked by the second. "Why you're, erm, thin as a rail. But, you know, that's not saying that you're just completely up and down. I have noticed you have—murder me!" He clapped his hands over his mouth, forbidding more embarrassing words' escape. He wasn't exactly sure what he had gotten close to saying, but he was pretty sure the outcome wouldn't have gone to his favor if he said it. Either to his relief, or to his terror, he found that Lucy was, confusedly, giggling.

"I'm sorry," she sobered, "I shouldn't have laughed. You just caught me off guard, I suppose. Why are you so jumpy?" she asked, sliding backwards a little so that Edmund wasn't entirely over her. "What are you trying to tell me?"

He tried to think of an appropriate answer, one that he wouldn't go to humiliate himself a second time, unfortunately, he couldn't think of anything. "Sorry about that fat thing," he said.

"That's all right," she said, "I'm not…angry with you, or anything. Why should I be?"

Edmund smiled, but couldn't help but notice, while Lucy was looking at him, she wasn't quite looking him in the eye; rather, she was looking a little below it.

"Please don't do that."

"Don't do what?" Lucy frowned, surprised.

"Look at my scar." Edmund said, twiddling his thumbs, still a bit nervous from the previous conversation. "It makes me feel like everyone can see everything. How I got it, what I'm thinking. I hate this thing. Sometimes I want to wish that I never stood up in that meeting in the first place."

"Don't give them that power over you, Edmund. Every time you say you're ashamed of that, every time you wish you didn't have it, you're giving in to them. Giving them a power over you, making you more and more intimidated. Really, all that scar does is mark your love for the people of Narnia. A lesser man wouldn't have said anything, but you want the Narnians to have justice. In a way, it proves what a great king you'll be someday. And that's all, unless you decide otherwise."

"I suppose," he looked around for no reason, "but, Lucy, I don't know…" he trailed off, noting that the size of Lucy's eyes had possibly doubled, probably tripled. "What is it?"

"You," she said, not even trying to hide her smile, "you know my name."

"Haven't I ever used it before?"

Lucy shook her head. "No."

"I didn't know it bothered you." Edmund swallowed, "I'm sorry. I'll call you Lucy from now on if you'd prefer it."

"I would. Thank you." The corners of Lucy's lips turned upwards. A full minute passed before her hand came up, slowly coming towards his face. "May I?" she asked, voice small.

Edmund nodded, shockingly enough, and found Lucy's fingers slowly caressing his scar. He had never allowed anyone else to do so before, but for some reason, he found that he didn't mind Lucy's touch. Her fingers were warm, and soft against the rough contours of the remnants of that side of his face.

What had happened between them just then was something more than it seems on paper. He had used her name, for one, which acted as something far less simple than the average time someone calls you by name. He basically took away any doubts in the air of his feelings. It was obvious he cared when he still called her Red; calling her Lucy was the next step. Another, he let her touch his scar. No other human had done so, other than Edmund himself, and it was one of the most intimate things one could do, at that point. These things might be too subtle to understand if you weren't in this situation, or one like this, but how else can I explain it? It's the feeling of falling, faster and harder than ever, into, what we Narnians call, love.

Everything had become surreal, dreamlike, like they were watching their actions on a higher plane. It was strange, they both seemed to be thinking nearly the same thing, but they simply sat there, in the bluish darkness besides milky moonlight spilling over them; sitting on a straw-filled mattress, the only thing between them air.

"Lucy?" Edmund asked, not knowing where his words were coming from, apprehensive at best. "I…I was wondering…could I maybe—"

He never got the chance to finish his question, because he moved before he could, and found his lips pressed to Lucy's. He felt her hand move from his scar down towards his neck, and felt the lightning go off inside of him. It was strange, but elating, her lips on his, the way they fit onto each other, the warmness, it was something that he would never forget.

When they broke apart, Lucy let off a funny high-pitched giggle that Edmund couldn't help but like, and said, "You're quite the Casanova, aren't you?"

"Not really," Edmund gripped Lucy's hand, letting his thumb wind in between her fingers, "but if you want me to be, I can have it arranged."

"I don't know," Lucy smiled, "Persuade me."

And once again, their faces came together, and they kissed, deeper this time. Edmund was set on memorizing every last bit of her lips, and Lucy was set on letting him. It was a whole new experience for them both, sending electricity and loud exhilaration through their chests, particularly when Edmund's tongue asked for admittance though her lips, and when Lucy obliged.

"Lucy Rose!" the woodsman suddenly bellowed from the ladder, loud enough to set the whole house shaking. He had heard some of their earlier conversation, and had climbed up the ladder to see what was going on. After a moment, he climbed fully up onto the loft and closed his eyes, "Go down there. Now, Lucy!"

Stunned once again by her father, Lucy was left with nothing to do but to give Edmund's hand a quick squeeze, and dart down the ladder. Nervous, if nothing else.

Although I still wish the woodsman had never even bothered to check up on Lucy, I can say nowadays that I understand the thinking behind his words, having a daughter myself (this doesn't mean I agree with what he said). He saw what is, possibly, the worst thing for any father to see, his daughter being heatedly kissed in the middle of the night, when she's alone.

Choosing his words carefully, the woodsman finally said, "Would it be completely out of line to ask what exactly it is you're asking of my daughter?"

"Not out of line," Edmund kept his teeth together, "only presumptuous."

"Then I will risk demanding the answer."

Edmund cocked an eyebrow out of annoyance, "I'm not asking anything out of her." He stood, moving on to leave, but then felt like adding, "I'm not trying to take advantage of her or anything. I don't care if you believe me, since it's obvious that you don't, but it might as well be on record that I said it. And, another thing, even if anyone actually did try to take advantage of her, she wouldn't let them. Lucy's stronger than that. You just can't see because you don't know her. You have no idea of what she is and isn't like. The only reason you think she's so naive and so pathetic is because of what you've seen, and that's because she's afraid of you, or so it seems." And with that, Edmund made his way down the ladder.

**A/N: Good grief, I wrote this entire thing in one sitting when I was home sick from school. Yet another example on how my writing likes to go astray from my original plans. **


	24. Tirian

Although the others didn't seem to mind the woodsman, no one even suggested that they waste much time in his cottage. At breakfast they made their plans to go to the northernmost point of Owlwood and find Tirian.

"Just for argument's sake," Susan said at one point, "what are we going to do if this Tirian fellow can't help us?"

Lucy frowned. "He has to," she said, "it's all we have."

Peter put his hand on Lucy's. "It's not all, it's just the only lead. If he can't help us, we'll have to go about it all on our own, that's all."

After this, everyone had an off feeling in the pit of their stomach, wondering what would happen if Tirian couldn't help them, and how much longer it would take.

When everyone set up packing for the walk they were set to go on, they finally remembered that Lucy no longer had her red cloak; it had washed downstream when she threw it at the Wolf. Edmund offered to give her his cloak, but she refused to let him.

"Are you sure?" he had said, still trying to put the cloak in her hands.

Lucy smiled and shook her head, "You need to be hidden more than I do. Besides, it's warm out already."

Edmund looked out the window they were standing beside, deciding it looked warm enough out, he turned back to Lucy, "All right, but if you want it, just tell me and I'll be right there to give it to you."

Giggling, Lucy smiled, and grabbed his hand, "Thank you, though."

Tightening his grip on her hand, Edmund pulled her in a little closer, "It's not a problem. But, Lucy…never mind," and then he went red.

Lucy smiled and squeezed his fingers. Then, as the situation would warrant, she turned somber. "What are we going to see today?" she asked, quietly, in more of a murmur than anything. "If we see the camps I think I might get sick."

"You know we will, Lu." He said, wanting to hold her for the look on her face. "But I'll probably vomit, too."

And so, the group prepared to leave. Susan insisted they pack a little food, in case it took longer to find Tirian's house than they first anticipated. Caspian, Peter, and Edmund all talked about weapons; was it a good idea to bring them? If so, which ones? In the end, they decided to take them, for safety precautions; swords for the boys, and Susan with a bow and arrow. Lucy was also given a bow and arrow, she could shoot things on a basic level, laughable to anyone who had seen the Lone Island archers, but she could hit moving targets, and that was what mattered. It was good for defense, and the mere intimidation factor, in case they had to use it.

They were on their way away from the woodsman's land, when the woodsman himself showed up for the first time that morning. "Lucy, come here." He called towards his daughter, who obliged. If this was from a fear, as Edmund had suggested, or merely from whatever loyalty she had to her father in general, I'm not sure; I was never so bold as to ask Lucy.

"Yes, sir?" she asked, stepping away from the group, and towards her father; currently, she was willing him not to ask her to wash the dishes or something similar, she wouldn't have put it past him, but she was rather busy for the day.

"What do you think you're doing?"

Lucy furrowed her brows. Hadn't they told him last night that they were going to visit someone to help them free the work camps? Was he still angry with her from the night before? (Neither men were exactly pleasant when they came down from the loft; Edmund had been tense and only dragged himself off to bed, and the woodsman was angry as fire, not sparing two words for his confused daughter.) "Well, erm, we're going to try and figure this out…we already told you."

"My daughter isn't going off to try and free any war camps." He rubbed his temples, and said, "It's no place for you."

Lucy furrowed her brows, "But I have to go. Aunt Polly wants an end to it…and I told Caspian that we would find the reason for it, and put things in the right. I can't not do anything…and I won't."

"I am your father. Don't you think I only have your best interests in mind?" He waited, and when no answer came, he said, "Answer me, Lucy."

Lucy, who was previously looking down towards her feet, looked up. "Well, with all due respect, if you did, you'd know why I have to go."

"Is the sole reason you defy me the young prince? Don't let him change you, a young boy with all the power in the world to hold you against your will, I don't blame you for going along. But, still, do not let him altar your way of thinking, or your loyalty to the man who sired you."

Lucy's voice caught, she spoke gently, and anyone who didn't know her very well wouldn't have been able to catch the anger laced inside the pity in her voice, "If you ever once took the time, before I was even nine, to get to know me; you would see that I haven't changed. I'm the same I've been my entire life." She paused, and put in, "Edmund isn't holding me against my will. He wouldn't do that. I know him well enough to know what he wouldn't do that."

I'm not sure if she even was entirely aware what her father had meant by the little fact that Edmund had the power to hold Lucy against her will (he did, by the way. Being a prince, he could technically command her to do anything, and she would have to do just that. He wouldn't do it, like she said, but he could.). She was rather innocent, and I don't know if she caught on. Still, when Edmund caught wind of this conversation later on, he was pleased that she had defended him. He probably would have yelled or been more snappish with the woodsman if he was there himself, but Lucy's approach might have been more effective. Perhaps that is only because she was his daughter.

She turned to leave; this time, however, the woodsman had to put in the last word, "You're under delusions. He's using your naïveté. I would never think of forbidding you in my house if you go against me, but mark my words, his loyalty will not match yours."

XXXXXXXXXX

The house was massive in comparison to the shanty in Beruna, and to the woodsman's house as well, but only about half the size of the Kirkes', just as Aunt Polly had told them. Set partway inside a hill, it was mostly hidden by trees. However, once you saw the house, you would never believe you missed it; large gray bricks the size of one's head lined up one against another, fitted perfectly, matching the shade. Windows lined the part of it that wasn't concealed within the hill, and a small chimney appeared out from the roof, seeming to come out of the hill itself. There was a large set of double doors up front, with a large ivory emblem of a bright white unicorn taking up the majority of it.

This was where the five children stood, staring straight at a matching (though somewhat off-white) knocker on the door. I suppose they were preparing themselves mentally for what was to happen next; everything was supposed to fall in line after this; the climax was approaching with speed. Lucy bit her lip when she realized this, conflicted. Yes, she wanted the war to end. Yes, she wanted all to be well with Narnia again. No, she didn't want her friendships to dull. She had barely even thought of these things until the previous night, when Edmund had asked her about it; and even afterward, she didn't allow herself to think of it. Not only was it a sad thought, but they had all become so close to her that if they were to leave, it would be like a part of herself was leaving; it would break her heart.

Of course, she stilled her upsetting thoughts; they would all stay in contact. Somehow, she knew, or hoped, they all would. Edmund, at the very least, had promised. She found herself, suddenly, looking over towards him. He smiled at her. She blushed. Either Peter or Caspian (neither Lucy nor Edmund remember exactly who it was) reminded them to keep it professional, and they faced the knocker again.

"Does anyone remember how we were supposed to knock?" Edmund asked, after a moment, resulting in four pairs of startled eyes looking at him.

"I was hoping Susan would remember," Peter muttered.

"And I thought Edmund would." Susan said.

"Me? When have I ever been known to remember things like this?"

"There's a first time for everything."

"Like using a brain?"

"Hey!"

"What? That didn't make any sense!"

"Yes, it _did._"

"Stop shaking your fist; you're going to take someone's eye out."

Caspian and Lucy exchanged glances, used to the way the three would go at it sometimes. "What was it, then, Caspian?" Lucy asked.

"Wasn't it five times quick, twice slow?" Caspian asked, hand reaching out towards the knocker.

Lucy bit her lip. "I think that sounds a little too complicated. Three times slow, once quick?"

Snapping in triumph, Caspian said, "Twice quick, once slow."

"Yes! That's it!" Lucy exclaimed, "There it is."

Caspian nodded, hitting the knocker against the wood twice quickly, and once slowly, just as they were told to do.

"You probably don't even remember what we're supposed to say!" The argument among the nobility continued.

"And you do?"

"That's beside the point!"

"It _is_ the point."

"We're not starting this again!"

A compartment in the door opened, it was too dark inside to see who was there, but their voice came through as somewhat confused, in hearing the argument. "Why are you in a hurry?" A voice, confused though it was, came through clear; like gentle, trickling water.

"The cuckoo clock isn't ticking." Caspian said, still trying to peer in through the compartment, and speaking above the argument in the background.

"Why have you come?" The voice said again.

Lucy spoke this time, rather liking this particular password. "We're in between the paws of the true Aslan."

"How many?"

They froze, hoping this wasn't a cleverly disguised password that Aunt Polly had forgotten to give them. "Five," they said in unison.

Within half a second, the large double doors opened soundlessly on well-oiled hinges. Caspian mentioned over his shoulder towards the nobility that they were in, and followed Lucy in.

Lucy looked about the room as she entered it. Although it was a rather plain entrance hall, there were several things she liked: the bright orange fire in the large cream-colored fireplace, burning on some sort of marvelous smelling wood, sending a pleasing smell throughout the room. Another was the only decoration the room sported: an enormous red and golden banner showing a hallowed Lion's face. In the very center of the room, however, drew attention for the longest, a creamy white unicorn, alive as you or me, standing there. He seemed to notice from first glance that he was standing in front of the princes of Narnia, for he bowed his long neck and remained that way for awhile.

"My name is Jewel," the unicorn said, bringing his head up. "Why have you called?"

"We're here to see Tirian," Peter said, cordially as ever; one would never guess that he had only just been in an argument, no matter how petty (and rather stupid) it had been.

Jewel nodded, and took them up to the staircase, made of broad slabs of somewhat slippery marble. "This way," he said, and led them down a rather long corridor, the only guess as to where it was headed was inside the hill.

It only took a minute or so before they were directed into a large room with shelves stacked with books lining the walls, and a somewhat worn out desk in the center; a study, from the looks of it. The man who the study belonged to stood beside the desk, a large, leather-bound atlas partway closed in his hands. He looked as though he was between twenty and twenty-five; had the build typical for a knight, and a rather scanty beard. Better than full-out beards that cover the whole face, in my opinion.

"Tirian," Jewel said, "these visitors want to see you."

"Thank you, my friend." Tirian stood, and bending at the waist, said, "Your highnesses," he paused, and added, "all three of you."

Lucy looked over to Caspian, who partway froze, being even less used to being considered a prince, than the others. She reached out and touched his sleeve, but then had to focus on the conversation starting right off the bat.

"Mrs. Kirke told us that we might find help from you," Peter began.

"Polly Plummer-Kirke? I haven't heard from her or her husband in almost a year. I'll help you if I can," Tirian said, inviting the children to sit down with a wave of his hand.

"We want to free those in the imprisonment camps." Lucy said, knowing of fierce the matter at hand was, and watched as Tirian's brow rose.

The rest of the children continued to let both Jewel and Tirian in on their plans until they were very nearly blue in the face. This honestly, was a bit of a feat, considering their master plan was to get the prisoners safe and then get them to help in storming Cair Paravel, with hopes of defeating the Ape, but they needed to make plans. After all, the children knew relatively nothing; this was where Tirian (and Jewel, too, I suppose) came in.

"Well," said Tirian, after being briefed of everything, "I can see how everything would work, except for one thing; where to keep the prisoners once they've been liberated. I don't think there's quite enough room here."

"There used to be an old stable we could use," Jewel said, "but then it got all these horrible things in it, and we haven't stepped inside since."

The children looked all about, trying to find something that could spark an answer, or a possible suggestion. When nothing came, Susan said, "Well, and there's always the matter of size. We do need to figure out how many of the prisoners we can take with us."

"That's relative to size," the unicorn agreed, but Tirian clapped his hands together.

"Size! That could be it!" He said, as though he had discovered something extremely important, "Jewel, is Eustace Scrubb still here?"

"He left yesterday," Jewel said, "and Jill Pole went with him."

"Drat. They knew the tunnels to the Underlands better than I. Though I suppose that while they had to live in them can count for that," Tirian bit his lip, and went deep into thought, "I don't suppose Puddleglum ever came for more than a moment?"

"He preferred Aslan's How to here."

"Understandable," Tirian continued muttering about this, and then cut himself off, "Oh! Here we've been, going off, and none of you have any clue what we're talking about."

"Well," Lucy said, not wanting them to feel bad about themselves, "we understand about Puddleglum and Aslan's How."

"Well," Tirian said, "There are four—maybe three, branches of the Resistance. Each branch has a member representation from a different region in Narnia, and each branch has a major objective, which they look at, although ultimately, we all want to see the Ape gone. For example, the group that meets at the Kirkes' house main objective was finding the princes. Once that was finished, they could go on and work about with all the others." The children nodded, and Tirian continued, "Well, two people in the group that meets here, Eustace Scrubb and Jill Pole, had been forced to live in tunnels that, if you aren't careful, will lead you straight into the Underlands. The Ape was after them; Jill for speaking out against the camps, and Eustace for speaking out against the segregation about in the larger cities."

"There are many off these tunnels, and there would be enough room and secrecy to keep the relieved prisoners there." Jewel finished for Tirian.

Everyone nodded, and then went on to concoct a plan to deliver the relieved prisoners to these tunnels, and a way to let this Eustace and Jill know about the prisoners, so that perhaps, they could lead them.

The conversation, slowly, began to drift a bit more towards what would happen after they rescued the prisoners, onward to when they would attack Cair Paravel itself. But, before they went into too much detail, Jewel spoke up. "Have you all seen the camps?"

When the children shook their heads, both Tirian and Jewel's faces became entirely somber, and Tirian spoke, his voice like brittle sticks, "I think you ought to know what exactly you're up against."

**A/N: Who thinks I need to work on keeping people in character while they're explaining things? Here's hoping I haven't butchered Tirian and Jewel too badly. Please review and tell me!**


	25. Gwendolen

**/!\ This chapter contains content based upon the Holocaust. Reader's discretion is advised.**

Dusk fell before Tirian and Jewel could take any of the children to see the camps, whether this was so that it would be harder for them to be seen, or so that it would be harder for them to see the horrors, I'm not sure. They huddled in what was left of a dried up waterway outside of the fenced-in area, so as not to be seen; but they could see everything.

Although it was getting dark, there were still hundreds—yes, hundreds, of Narnians laboring out in whatever job they were assigned. Humans, fauns, centaurs, Talking Beasts and even dryads looking as though they were about to collapse inside their pitiful farming plots; one lady faun was being severely beat with a stick by a man in a uniform, possibly because her farm didn't grow well enough in the unfertile soil of the marsh. There were Horses, Mules, Bulls, and more of the sort, plowing, and doing all sorts of labor. Mad-eyed and foaming, one Stallion cried out for Aslan to preserve him and, right before all of their eyes, dropped over, as much alive as a rock. Tears sprang up into all of their eyes; Lucy shielded her eyes on Edmund's shoulder. What was even worse, however, the rest of the Beasts forced to work, although they were foaming as well, and shedding large tears audibly for the Stallion who was once their companion, kept up at their work. Then the tears were forced to cease, as a uniformed man cracked a whip and shouted, "Lazy brutes! Get back to work!"

There were wigwams everywhere, broken down, with holes in them, and yet, people went in and out of them as though they were the one relief they had.

"That's where they're all kept," Tirian said, noting the way Lucy seemed confused by the wigwams. "They keep about forty-five people in one of those wigwams."

Lucy swallowed back tears again, and in inhaling, found herself choking on the smell of decay that hung heavily in the air. "What's that smell?" she whimpered, unsure if she wanted to know.

Tirian, white as a sheet, keeping back a deadly rage, said, "When someone dies here, they burn their bodies. I think I heard once," the hatred in Tirian's voice was overwhelming, "that sometimes they killed prisoners and burned them, simply because they were becoming overcrowded."

"In the name of Aslan!" Susan exclaimed, as quietly as she could; the dismay and disgust in her voice pouring out in every syllable, "What sort of person would do something like that?"

Jewel stamped his foot. "I used to say that this whole thing was disgusting, but that isn't even so. There aren't words to describe how truly vile this is."

"When Jewel and I first saw this," Tirian said, "we were so overcome by rage, that we ran right into the prison and killed the guards who were holding some prisoners. I with my sword, and Jewel with his horn. We were going to be convicted, but thankfully the Resistance members I mentioned earlier—Eustace Scrubb and Jill Pole, helped us escape."

The others went on to speak of returning to Tirian's house and moving forward to concoct a plan. Lucy, however, didn't hear a word of it. Her eyes had been wandering from Narnian to Narnian, spouting tears and gaping in disbelief at the sheer terror (indeed, she did feel like she was going to get sick) when her eyes found someone. She could tell who it was from a moments glance, despite the obvious changes. She tells me that it was the eyes; the big, brown doe eyes were so similar, but they weren't sparkling, which was something Lucy could tell even at that distance. The person was merely skin and bones; if she were to shed her rags, you would be able to count every single rib on her body. Cheeks sunken in, the person looked more a skeleton silhouette of the friend Lucy remembered. Even down to this last little fact, Lucy always remembered this one thing about her friend; her long, dark hair that always fell in loose curls in the way Lucy sometimes wished she could get her hair to curl. All of that was gone. The girl had naught on her head but skin.

"Come on, Lucy." Voices broke her intense look at this person. "We're going back now."

Lucy stayed put and merely mumbled, "Gwendolen."

Caspian, who knew the most about Gwendolen, was at her side immediately, "You saw her? She's here?"

Nodding weakly, Lucy whimpered for a moment and then said, "I have to talk to her."

Susan cut in, "No. The best chance we have in saving your friend is just to put an end to this once and for all. It's too dangerous for you to just go along in and talk to someone."

"_Please_." Lucy begged, "You didn't see her. If you did, you would...She looked worse off than most of the prisoners here. And you don't know her. Susan, if Peter, Edmund, Caspian, or even I were stuck in here, you would want to talk to us, wouldn't you?" Looking from all of the faces, all of which were rather stony, Lucy continued, "I'm only asking for five minutes to talk to her. I'll wait until it's dark, and sneak in. Please."

Tirian was against it too, and sided with Susan, as did everyone else. It took some amount of tricky persuasion, but Lucy managed to convince them, for the most part, to allow her to do this. It was mad, really; madder than anything one could imagine, but she had managed to sway everyone into allowing her to do this. (This is where I learned my first essential truth about women; it doesn't matter who they are, they have a way of getting what they want. I'm not going to pretend to understand what this way is, or how they do it; I have tried throughout my entire marriage to figure this out, the only result being many headaches, so I'm afraid I cannot elaborate on this statement. All I can say is, if your wife wants a baby, and you don't, well, if you do anything at all with her, she's going to get pregnant, and if she doesn't want the baby and you do; she won't get pregnant. Simple as that.)

Even though Lucy had convinced them to allow her to go on with this madness, they all had their own reservations. Tirian was still wildly against it, but could see no way out. Jewel almost scraped the ground with his hooves. Susan's disapproval was written all across her pretty face. Peter was worried. Edmund just looked grim. All of the abovementioned persons voiced their uncertainties, but Lucy would hear none of it.

"There are Wolves and Crows here, added to the humans, are you sure?"

Lucy nodded. "Yes. Go ahead, and I'll catch up."

No one seemed to want to let her, but Caspian cut in. "She won't be alone; I'll go with her."

Jewel spoke after this, when no one else would, "The soldiers have gotten lazy over the years, at night. No one tries to sneak in or out, or if they try they can't make it. You would probably be able to get in. It's getting out that's difficult."

"I can do it," Lucy said, not absolutely believing this.

"Maybe I should go too," Edmund said, biting his lip.

"No," came the response, "you should go with the others and create a plan. We'll learn it later."

Peter ended up with the final say, "We'll wait a while off; you two can go, but be careful. We'll be in on the first sign of trouble. If you're still there in more than an hour, we'll assume something went wrong and be in."

A few more exchanges on safety procedures passed, and Lucy and Caspian were left alone. "Are you sure you want to go with me?" Lucy asked.

"We said we were going to set things right," Caspian began, nodding; only to have his sentence finished by Lucy.

"And we will."

XXXXXXXX

As it turns out Jewel was accurate enough in saying that it would be easy to get in to the camp. To be precise, it was extremely easy. All Lucy and Caspian had to do was jump the fence (which wasn't very high in the first place) and duck by the windows to the only cabin, and well-kept up building there; the one reserved for guards, who, instead of keeping watch as they were supposed to be doing, were having a rather loud time of merriment with each other. It's disgusting, how they could simply shed what they did to all the Narnians every day, and still have time for wine and mirth later.

After sneaking past the cabin, it was a matter of slinking in the darkest shadows, avoiding the few and far between soldiers who were actually doing their job.

It took no times at all for the two to reach the wigwam that Lucy had seen Gwendolen step into.

"Luthee?" Caspian whispered; they had previously mentioned only talking when they needed to, and omitting the 's' noise, which is the most easily overheard sound while whispering. "Jewel wath right about getting in, do you think it will be the thame getting out?"

Lucy furrowed her brow, "I don't know; but he wath right thith far."

They remained in the darker side of the shadows for moment, thinking about how they were going to go about this. They had spoken about this before, but it made sense a few minutes ago, before they were right in the middle of the camp.

Lucy held her breath and began to advance into the doorway of the wigwam; Caspian grabbed onto her elbow. "Be careful," he whispered. "I'll wait out here for you."

Nodding Lucy took a step in all the way, and was nearly knocked out by the stink of sweat, filthy clothing, and even the iron stench of blood. Added to that, she was greeted by almost forty pairs of eyes; some curious, some scared, and some were just too weak to care at all. Everyone was lined up on damp mats on the uneven ground, so close that they were practically lying on top of each other. Feeling like she was going to cry, Lucy couldn't force herself to speak up so that she could ask about Gwendolen, thankfully, she was easily noticed.

"Lucy?" Gwendolen came up from behind her, her brown doe eyes enormous. She looked even worse up close, the rags she wore were loose fitting, but you could practically count her ribs even then. Her lack of hair, hollow cheeks, and sallow skin made her look like a completely separate person. "What are you doing here?"

All Lucy could manage to choke out was, "I'm so sorry" before she took a step forward and embraced her friend, crying all the while.

"What are you apologizing for?" Gwendolen said; taking a step back once the embrace was over. She reached out and touched a lock of Lucy's hair, grinning just barely she said, "Your hair has gotten so long."

"I wish you could have come with me to the Professor's in the first place." Lucy put in, rather miserably, not really hearing the hair comment.

Gwendolen took Lucy's hands, "It's all right. I've survived," she said.

It was painful, Lucy thought, to hear her dear friend refer to mere survival as a great accomplishment. The fact that it was made her want to vomit; just remembering to wake up, to continue living was an accomplishment and a feat; it wasn't right for anyone, and just made all the more difficult coming from a person who was once so close to her.

"We're going to get you out of here," Lucy said, and then she turned to the other prisoners, "all of you. We might not get all of you out right now, or even by tomorrow, but we will. I promise you."

"But, how?"

"My friends," Lucy said, "we're all going to take back Cair Paravel and put things in the right again."

This was where most of the eyes got big, mutters of, "They're going to overthrow King Frank" filled the room, and Lucy learned what exactly the prisoners thought of the king who had been forced to pass things he didn't want. You can't truly blame them, not really; they had been told it was orders from the king; but all the same, Lucy never told me exactly what they were saying, for fear of my reaction. I suppose that speaks for itself on the type of slander it was.

"Well," Lucy blurted, not wanting to continue to listen to what they were saying, "Gwendolen, I need to get back. They'll be worried, and think something went wrong. We were running late as it is."

Gwendolen nodded, noticing her friend's predicament, although not understanding it. They gripped hands, and Lucy started to inch towards the door.

"And," Lucy went on; "I'll get you free. You and your parents, you'll make it through, no matter what. Even if things go wrong. I promise…what is it, Gwendolen? You're white as a sheet."

Gwendolen shook her head, covering her ears with her hands, all the while crying, "Not Mum. If she only waited a little while longer…oh, in the name of Aslan." She looked back up, and said to Lucy, in a voice breaking and quivering, "She didn't want to work anymore. She said anything would be better than this. And so she didn't work one day…and they—they made me watch! Oh, Aslan. They made me watch!"

Lucy found herself crying; the tone was enough for Lucy to know for sure that Gwendolen's mother was dead. She had always been such a kind soul, docile and loving. Lucy had already stopped moving towards the door and held her friend while they both cried. She kissed her friend on the cheek and did all she could do to comfort her, but it seemed far beyond all she could do.

Suddenly, as it became a skill all those in the prison camps, Gwendolen silenced her tears, though still obviously hurt. "It's almost three now. They'll be waking us up for our morning work soon. You need to go."

They squeezed hands again and Lucy turned to take her leave out of the wigwam, her mind consumed, at first, with all the terrors she had seen and heard of, but then she looked outside the door, and her eyes widened at the sight in front of her eyes. She couldn't believe she hadn't seen it already, but he was in the darkest shadows off to the side. "Caspian!" she screamed, and began to run towards her friend, who was on the ground, face in the dirt.

No sooner had she stepped out of the wigwam, than something black with sharp talons fell from the sky, and pulled her onto the ground by her hair.

A leering face of a human bent down and looked her in the eyes; his were black, with no light in them at all. Finally, he stuck out a stone knife and pointed it to her throat. "Don't make a sound or you're gone."

Lucy couldn't help it; a tiny whimper escaped from her throat.

**A/N: Comments? Questions? Please review!**


	26. Familiar Circumstances

When someone has a knife dangerously close to someone else's throat, you will find that that person ends up being rather cooperative with you, no matter the fact that they do not want to be. It was the same with Lucy. The last thing she wanted to do was step inside the cart her two captors were forcing her into, but with her and Caspian's lives on the line, she was left with no choice but to oblige.

They left Caspian in the camp, I suppose they assumed he was a prisoner who stole normal clothing, but they took Lucy away immediately. She did not cry, she would not give them the satisfaction, nor could she even if she were not so adamant about remaining dry-eyed; she had shed all her tears with Gwendolen.

She tried to resist as much as she could, but once they both tied and gagged her, there was not very much she could do, especially after they took off her pouch, which, consequently had the juice of the fire-flower inside it. She was beginning to see why everyone thought it was a big deal for her to bring it in the first place.

Her captors, as it turned out, were a more frightening Crow than the one she had met previously, and a man who had been found guilty of working in the slave trade. They had seen her and Caspian as they were passing by the soldier's cabin, and followed them to see what they were up to, first noticing that Lucy was obviously not a prisoner, having hair and all that, and then they realized Lucy fit the description, other than the cloak, of the girl that Shift was looking for. They took her, then, in high hopes of getting, or remaining at this point, on the Ape's good side.

They forced her to sit in the back of a rickety old cart (which, admittedly, is only a little better than being dragged behind it) and took away at breakneck speed, all the while threatening her to keep quiet. Lucy considered jumping out of the cart shortly after she almost fell, but decided against it; they could always stop the cart and come back to get her.

As Cair Paravel drew closer, Lucy couldn't help but feel more and more nervous, and when she was dropped in the middle of the throne room, untied, she found herself nearly frozen in place. The worst part was that she was not alone.

Shift himself stood right before the throne that was supposed to belong to King Frank, who was standing on a lower step towards the platform. The Ape came down from the throne, sneering at Lucy, "You have been a very wicked little girl."

"What is the meaning of this?" King Frank said; appalled by the rather rough way this girl was forced into the room.

"Silence, you fool." Shift said, and then directed his attention back towards Lucy, "You, little girl, should know better than to take what isn't yours. It's wicked, and just gives me _such_ a headache. Such _a terrible _headache. Well? What do you have to say for yourself?"

Lucy rose to her feet slowly from hitting the marble floor so hard, but she rose. Later on, she often has told me that she wishes she said something better, but I do not see anything close to a flaw in what she said. She found valor in these words, and found that while she was speaking, she was not afraid. "Even if you drink it—even if you drink the entire thing, you won't win. Like someone very close to me said once, it's a high. And when you get that high, you're going to come crashing down. And when you do, you'll loose. Aslan won't let you win."

"And you really think that Aslan would come in and stop me? He wouldn't. Haven't you, even at all, guessed that those filthy Telmarine-Narnians deserved it? That Aslan thinks he's been far too soft with you Narnians over the years, and that, perhaps, he might just teach you to think he's a tame Lion?"

Lucy held like a rock, as she said coolly, "You speak blasphemy."

"That he does, and fluently," King Frank mumbled under his breath, reminding Lucy of Edmund for a moment; she didn't know how she heard it, since Shift didn't. Perhaps she had imagined it.

The Ape continued; "Speak blasphemy, do I? What would you know? Stupid little girl. What do girls know of these matters? You know nothing."

King Frank stepped forward at this point. "Now, if you don't mind, Lord Shift. You have had power over all of Narnia for years; I've let you control everything. But, what is this madness? What could this girl have possibly done?"

Shift sneered. "This girl is no more than a thief. But you, King Frank, need not know more than is necessary. That is, if you value your sons' lives. But, of course, her's can be spared (for she had committed a vile crime) at their sakes."

King Frank retreated immediately; he did not want a young girl's life on his hands, but what was he to do? He loved his sons dearly; it's a terrible crime to ask a king to choose between his family and his subjects. It was obvious whom he would choose, however. After all, blood is thicker than water.

"You majesty," Lucy said, "he doesn't know where your sons are. He never has." The Ape was getting angry, the sneer gone away, into a blind rage, but Lucy continued going, speaking faster with each syllable, "He's tricked you for all these years. Peter and Edmund, and Susan, they've run away. They're fine."

King Frank blinked. He opened his mouth to say something, but Shift cut him off, "She is only a liar. How could the princes have run away when they have been captives for all this time? In fact, she is only here in the first place to receive justice for her lies and thievery."

"I'm not a liar." Lucy said, more vehemently than she would have otherwise, in light of the situation, "Five years ago, you, your majesty, told Edmund that he couldn't just play sick anytime he didn't want to do something. And you said that the two of you were alike, and Peter was like the late queen. You said that he'd have to get used to obligations."

"How do you know that?" King Frank blinked at the girl, "Who are you?"

"Edmund told me. I'm a friend of his and Peter's," Lucy said quickly, ad she was about to go on and say something else, but found that she couldn't, for at that moment, she felt something hard strike the back of her head, and everything went black as she hit the floor.

When Lucy came back to consciousness, she found herself on a prickly straw-mattress with a damp cloth pressed to her forehead. When she opened her eyes, she could only vaguely make out the face of a girl, everything was too blurry to tell for sure, but she looked around Lucy's age, at most two years her minor. This face disappeared for a moment, but its owner's voice came strong from a little ways off to the side, accompanied by a hard slam on stone, "Scrubb! She's awake!"

How long had she been unconscious? A few hours? Days? A week? A month? What had she missed? Hardly anything? Everything? Were things better in Narnia? Were they the same? Had they gotten worse?

Her vision was still off, but she saw the basic outline of a person (most likely a boy from the voice the came afterward) crawl out from a space in the wall that appeared to have a stone missing. "Really?" he said, "I thought for sure she would be under complete comatose."

Lucy blinked and the room came to her. She was inside a dank area that came off as more of a cell than a room, never mind that the windows remained unbarred. The air was musty and wet, but Lucy couldn't be concerned with that, in fact, she barely noticed. "What's going on?" she asked, immediately caught by both a searing and a throbbing pain at both the front and back of her head. She propped herself up on her elbows, only to find that it deepened the pain.

The girl went back to where Lucy was lying, and put some straw-filled pillows underneath her head, so that poor Lucy wasn't flat on her back.

"You have a concussion, at best," the boy said, speaking like a rather big know-it-all, perhaps one who could even give Susan a run for her money, but not at all a rotten know-it-all, just someone plagued with too much sense. "You were clubbed on the head and hit it again on the floor. Somehow all of the bleeding seems to be external."

"You've been awake off and on ever since you got here a few hours ago, but you don't seem to remember any of that." The girl put in.

Lucy shut her eyes tightly, and felt her forehead throb, but then she opened them again, trying to come back entirely to consciousness.

"Why did he attack you like that?" the girl asked, after silence had seeped into the room. "You can't just be any normal member of the Resistance."

"How did you know that I'm in the Resistance?" Lucy asked, only just noticing that she had a bandage wrapped around her forehead.

"This is where they keep all of the members when they're caught. Before we're taken to the death camp abroad—in Calormen actually."

"You're Eustace Scrubb and you're Jill Pole, aren't you?" Lucy asked, after a moment, and went on to learn that Eustace and Jill had been captured the day they left Tirian's house, as they had made a wrong turn and wound up right where some of the Ape's soldiers were rounding up new Narnians for the camps.

"So," Jill said when they got to this point, "we're all in the same boat right now."

"Not exactly," Eustace murmured, more to himself than to the girls, but after saying it, felt compelled to elaborate. "If Lucy was worth giving a concussion to so she wouldn't be able to move, it's a little obvious that she's worth more than we are—I don't know why that is, but it's obvious."

The girls glanced at each other, and then back to Eustace, edging him to go on.

"We're bound to be more heavily guarded than before. Moreover, they won't let Lucy out for their lives. They'll let Pole and me out, if not just to lead them to the Resistance, then because they'd be chasing after Lucy."

"So, then you two go," Lucy said, sitting up on the mattress, disregarding the throbbing of her brain.

Jill blinked. "We can't leave you here. Scrubb is right. They'll probably kill you."

"Maybe they will, but there's something I need to do," said Lucy. "He's got the juice of the fire-flower. I need to get it back."

Both of the children's eyes widened, Eustace even went so far as to say, "If he drinks it, we'll be facing Armageddon, most likely."

"So, we _are _in the same boat," Jill said, "we need to get Lucy back the juice of the fire-flower."

From here, they went on to devise a plan for breaking out of their imprisoned area, which wasn't bad at all in comparison to the camps, and to get the juice of the fire-flower. But, of course, Lucy's health always came up to pose as a problem. Since no one was a physician, and Eustace's knowledge ended exactly on what the injury was (and anyone, honestly, could guess that she had a concussion, taking such blows to the head), they didn't know if it would do more damage to have Lucy up and around.

In the end, they ended up deciding to give Lucy another day or so of rest. It was a good idea, but very defective. Who can truly rest when so much is going on? Not only did Lucy have no idea what was going on with everyone else, but she also did not quite know what they were going to do. The plan was devised so quickly, and she was slower than normal with her head throbbing like that.

The day of rest passed rather quickly, and uneventfully. Eustace and Jill mostly kept to themselves, talking with one another quietly while Lucy rested and stared at the ceiling. She couldn't make out what they were talking about, not that she was even trying to eavesdrop, but her brain wouldn't make the connection either way. By some miracle, by the end of that day, she felt almost entirely cured. (This is, actually, a very queer occurrence, and I actually tend to think that the miracle was, in reality, that she never had a concussion to begin with, as they often take upwards a week to be alleviated.)

Night came around slowly the next day, they killed time repeating most of what they had said the previous day, as Lucy had to be re-briefed on the situation, for she had missed quite a bit of it while hazy, but felt more confident afterwards. They were going to wait until nightfall, sneak into the Ape's chambers—he wouldn't be in, there was some sort of large dinner that night, steal back the juice of the fire-flower, and run for the hills. Lucy found this plan to feel rather like déjà vu, déjà vu from a story told to her by Edmund. She inwardly hoped it would go more according to plan for them.

Thinking of Edmund reminded her that she hadn't a clue as to what they (as in Edmund, Peter, Caspian and Susan) were doing. Perhaps they would go on with the plan of liberating the camp, which she mostly wished they would. Nevertheless, she knew all of them too well to think that they would go on as if nothing happened after this. Especially Edmund. For only but a moment, she caught herself wondering what his reaction was when he found out she was gone, but then instinct took over, and she was only able to think about the moment at hand. "Let's go," she said.

XXXXX

Meanwhile, King Frank returned to his chambers. He had gotten out of the habit of sleeping the last few weeks, and had spent most of his time away from that wretched Ape in the library or study, since Shift never came into either of those rooms.

However, the events of the last few days truly seemed to have an impact on the king of Narnia, and so, he sat down at a mahogany desk that is very familiar to me personally, with a quill and began to scrawl on yellowing parchment, quickly and messily.

He had had a habit, ever since his wife first died, of writing letters to her. He knew that she was gone, and would never know what it was he wrote, but it did help him sort out his messy thoughts, and to remember her. If you were to look back on them, you would often see "_I know what you would say…" _written on nearly every page. It was something that he started to help him cope with mourning, and he simply kept it up through the years. It was rather like the way Peter would talk to his brother, only down on paper.

After King Frank finished writing, he left the parchment out on the desk to dry over night, and slowly trudged into his large bed for yet another sleepless night of staring at the canopy over his bed.

The breeze drifted outside an opened window and forced the parchment into moving, directly under the milky white light of the moon, the still-wet ink catching on the light and shining backwards, on every scrawled letter, something caught and the words shimmered underneath the light.

Here, I have enclosed an abridged version (forgive me, but certain things need to remain confidential, considering they have nothing to do with what I am telling you) of the letter written to the late queen that night, the last of them all.

"_Am I truly that much of a failed king? May I ask where exactly I went wrong? Ever since you left, I've felt insufficient at best. Lost, alone, unfit for what I am supposed to be. Since the beginning, I've been trapped, Nellie. He—the Ape, the devil, held our sons' lives over my nose like bait on a fishing hook… I was left with no choice but to go along. But now, only a day ago, that cursed Ape had ordered a girl, no older than you and I were at our first meeting, in and slammed her on the ground. I haven't the foggiest idea of what he wanted—and it doesn't matter. I wanted to persuade him to let her go—there was something queer about her, like she knew something, I couldn't put my finger on it, and he slammed her down. And then I figured out what it was. That girl had been with our sons! She claims to have friendship with both Edmund and Peter! She seems entirely truthful as well. I don't know whether I should rejoice at their safety, or curse that I have been stupid enough, truly, to go along with his (the Ape's) bidding for so long. I will not have any more of it. There must be someone who's loyalties lie to the real king, mustn't there be? … To think, I have acted as marionette whilst the Ape the puppetmaster, controlling my country—ruining Narnia, and defaming the family. … I am promising you; I will not stand for another day of it. But, how am I to do this? Power has been drained out of me for so long; I haven't a clue how to call it back. Nevertheless, I must attempt it. Attempt it for the life of our sons, Narnia, and me. Aslan willing, this shall turn out for the better…Which brings me to another point. After all of this, how much life remains inside this old heart? The sand in my hourglass is indeed running out, but for how much more time? I must continue on, if only to see my sons again. If only to see Peter and Edmund once more, but I must. Mortality cannot be on my mind…and yet, sometimes I betray these thoughts and wonder. Where are you at this very moment? Are you waiting for me? Do you remember who I am? I know that this is a rather childish question, but does it hurt to die? Or is it just the anticipation that hurts? … However, even by writing all of these, I have betrayed my original intentions. I apologize. … When people look back on my reign, they will see a failure, and most likely, a king possessed by power and depression, power because all with the Ape has been incredibly underground. They will see all that I was forced to do, while under the impression that my own sons' lives were uncertain, but they will not see why I did what I have done. … I know that when the history books choose to record me, the little time we had happily will be omitted; they will skip over our Frank's tragic ending, my old friendship with Caspian IX, and how much I loved my sons. They will only what the Ape had made me do; the death camps, the segregation _…(here he went on to list several other things Shift made him do, most of which I have chosen not to mention in the first place, and so I will not call back to them)_ and the dreadfulness of pulling the Talking Beasts out of court. Narnia is their country, perhaps more than anyone else's, it was a terrible thing to be forced into doing. Nevertheless, none of this, my personal fame (or, as it has become—infamy), would matter to me anymore, in my gray years, if it would not have some effect on Peter and Edmund's future. If I die here, if I do not live to see them again, what will become of them, Nellie? Will the Narnians force them off the throne, for fear of my failure repeated in them? Will they be found at all? … It has been such a long time, and sometimes I wish to put a stop to everything, I look to the horizon and wonder what it is like where you are, and wish to join you. But then Peter's qualities and mannerisms come into my brain, and then I remember that I hadn't even got the chance to say anything to Edmund after he was maimed so cruelly, and I want to continue going. …I must. But, alas, here is the question. Once someone learns that they have been a pawn, for no use, they truly must decide to terminate this existence. Once this happens, they are no longer necessary. How long will _they_ allow him to continue breathing, even if it is his only desire?" _

**A/N: Ah, yes, the chapter is over. This is where you leave a review. **


	27. Hide and Seek Part One

If Edmund was, at all, in his right mind, if his world was still turning at more than a centimeter an hour, time might have been a little more relevant to him. Perhaps things would have made more sense, for all he could see were smoky stills of what was going on; like portraits in a fire. He saw many of the healthier prisoners running like the devil was on their heels out of the camp, he saw himself and Caspian fighting several guards, Susan take on a few, and Peter do the same; although he didn't remember being there. He saw Peter talk to a large group of people, many of which were the rescued prisoners, others happened to be Tirian's neighbors and other members of the Resistance. In between Edmund and all of this, was a smoky veil that turned and coiled up in the air; all that he could imagine was what Lucy could possibly be going through? He hated having to guess. What did the Ape even want with her? Was he giving her equal treatment to what he gave him? When Edmund saw Lucy again, would she have a scar to match his? Would she be breathing?

When this possibility hit him like a bucket of ice, he shook himself back into consciousness. He and a large group of others were walking along the forest of Owlwood, traveling to Cair Paravel.

They were actually going to do it. Edmund could not believe it. They were actually going to raid Cair Paravel. Somehow, he knew the plan, even though he had not been paying attention. There were going to be three groups inside Cair Paravel to begin with; Peter with Susan, Caspian, and Edmund. Peter and Susan would go to open the gates, for the others to enter, as a fight was going to be obvious. Caspian was to infiltrate and lower the drawbridge. Edmund's job, if you were not able to guess, was to rescue Lucy. Not having the slightest clue as to where she was being held would make it difficult, but thankfully, Edmund did know Cair Paravel like the back of his hand.

All parties would move as silently and as unnoticed as possible, but chances of staying that way was slim, which is where the rest of them came in. Once the gates opened, Susan would signal the others by setting an arrow on fire and sending it into the night sky. Then they would come running, and no doubt, some sort of battle would ensue. The Battle of Cair Paravel. It seemed to have a queer, contradicting ring to it, Edmund reflected.

After all was well with Narnia, King Frank back on the throne and in charge, they would view the war with Telmar again, and work to winning that. That was something they simply could not get into; they did not have enough time.

On their way to Cair Paravel, all parties remained quiet, walking swiftly through the forest. The only time anyone spoke was to compose their plan, and once when Caspian had apologized to Edmund for not protecting Lucy. Edmund had not been blaming him, but it was somewhat nice to hear the apology. He had always been confident that Lucy could take care of herself, and now it seemed that, in certain situations, just like everyone else, she needed help. If it were not for the situation, and if it were not for the near hysterics he had gotten himself into, it might have been a learning experience. It might have told him that everyone needs help sometimes, and sometimes no one truly is accountable but fate. As it happens, he could not get anything out of these thoughts; too jumbled to understand. You, reader, take out of it what you will.

As they walked in the grim silence, Edmund realized something; everything would have to end in that night. The chances of escaping out of Cair Paravel the second time with their heads, however strange this sounds, were slim. Since it was easier to stay out than to get out; everything had to work. The Ape had to be overthrown, Lucy had to be rescued, the juice of the fire-flower had to be put away somewhere where it would never be heard from again.

Night fell by the time they reached Cair Paravel. If it sounds strange, I apologize. The castle did not look any different from the outside, and for a moment, Edmund managed to think that it was no different from the inside. After all, it looked so much the same, with its incredible bricks, ivory and polished marble shined in the moonlight. However, numbing the pain for a little while only makes it worse when you actually feel it. In a moment, quicker even than it took Edmund to fool himself, he remembered everything. Lucy was in some sort of terrible situation, to put it lightly. He clenched his fist and set his jaw, ready to do anything to get her back.

The stars and moon were nearly invisible; they shrouded under murky clouds, giving everything dark, sinister shadows. The lack of view from the stars and moon sent several of the more superstitious members of the group into a bit of a panic. Alas, none of them understood the dire reason all of this had to end that night.

The next thing Edmund knew, he was cutting through the air in the claws of a griffin. The only sounds in the world were the subtle flap of the feathered wings cutting through the air. Edmund felt the hilt of his sword dig slightly into his side. He hadn't the chance to use it seriously in so long, would he be able to do more? True, he had disarmed Caspian, it had seemed so long ago, but that stopped at disarming. If it were to get to battle, a question hung in the air; would he be able to deliver the coup de grace?

The griffin circled around a high tower and silently dropped him onto the hard roof, where they both shrunk out of eyeshot of any guards who possibly could be standing by.

"I will be waiting for Lady Susan's signal," the griffin said. "Do you remember everything?"

Edmund nodded, and jumped onto the hard brick below, turning his head as he landed, so that he could be certain that no one had snuck up behind him. Here he had to think. Where were they keeping Lucy? He doubted that they would be keeping her in the dungeon, figuring the Ape liked to be a little more imaginative when it came to punishing his enemies. Unfortunately, for Edmund, all it meant was that there were more places they could be keeping her.

Never before had Edmund even begun to wish that he could read other people's minds, but for the moment, he longed for the ability to tap into her mind, and from that figure out where she was. There were too many places for her to be. Knowing a castle like the back of your hand does not change the fact that it is still a castle, and therefore enormous. If you could play a weeklong game of hide-and-seek in the Kirkes' house, you could play a month long game at Cair Paravel, and still not find everyone.

That is pretty much what it was, Edmund thought. A demented game of hide-and-seek in which you cannot loose, the objective being to seek Lucy, and to hide from the Ape, until the opportune moment, in which the puppetmaster would have the strings cut on him. Trained swordsmen must be very keen on seeking the opportune moment, for if you are in battle, or even a friendly spar, and you launch the blade too early, your strategy would be revealed, and you would go down, if you launch the blade too late? In that case, your opponent would already out of the way, and once again, you would go down. There was no room for accidents in things like this, there was doing things right, and there was missing the mark. Missing the mark would mean the end.

As Edmund waited in a darkened doorway, he supposed he could, perhaps, find a lone Crow and get him to give up Lucy's location by force. He was on the tightest schedule, for he had to try and get Lucy before Caspian reached the gate, before Susan launched the arrow for the battle to start. Not knowing how long the battle would last, he would have to wait for everyone to be busy for him to meet up with Peter, Susan, and Caspian. For they, at this point, would pursue Shift, with the help of the alleviated Minotaur and griffin from the camp.

He looked around, and suddenly it struck him; there were no guards to be found. Not a single Crow or Wolf roamed the corridor, or at least none that he could see, at least not where he was. Stressing every Susan-like way of thinking he had in his brain, Edmund tried to guess what that meant. He ended up figuring out that it was because there was nothing of interest in this part of the castle, which meant that Lucy would most likely be in the opposite corridor. He bolted away, not realizing that if he had only waited another moment, he would have run right into Lucy herself, accompanied by Eustace Scrubb and Jill Pole.

Lucy hid in the shadow of a large pillar in between Eustace and Jill, only a few yards away from where Edmund had been standing. Since non of the three had weapons on them (Lucy's had been taken away previously), they were reduced to sneaking in shadows, staying out of sight, and at all costs, moving quickly. This proved easier said than done, considering none of the three was very familiar with Cair Paravel. Eustace had a castle insider (this was Tumnus, as we found out later) who was able to inform them through the door of their prison of what room the vial was most likely to be kept in. Therefore, they were speeding throughout the corridors, sneaking in the shadows, which seemed to only slow them down. However, this proved to be for the best, as Wolves and Crows would occasionally pop up out of nowhere at all, resulting in Lucy, Jill, and Eustace, crowding into a corner as quickly as possible.

They tripped up the stairs, occasionally, spending most of their brainpower to take heed to hide in the nearest shadow if they heard so much as a dumb mouse tread across the floor.

Eventually, all three made it to a large room, filled with what every other person in Narnia, Archenland, Telmar, and perhaps even Calormen would classify as trash or worthless. Odd paper crowns that drooped in queer fashions, overly fancy tunics and doublets littered the floor, the shells of nuts and banana peels fell in a collage around the floor, marched upon by many little ants and rather large beetles corroding them.

Eustace looked at one of the beetles and remarked on once having a dead one pinned to a card years ago, to which Jill looked annoyed and said, "I thought you didn't collect those beastly things anymore."

"I don't." Eustace said, "but I do know what they look like."

Lucy did not register this conversation, for in the very center of the room, the red vial sat, gleaming in the insufficient torchlight. She attempted to look into the shadows, wondering what might be lurking there. Quickly after that, the reminder the wind had given her; don't think, do. It had worked for her so far, and perhaps it might work again. The next thing she knew, she was holding the vial in her hand.

"That was rather anti-climatic." Eustace said, and then to his companions' looks, added, "Well, if this really is the treasure everybody's making it out to be, wouldn't they have it guarded somehow? Shouldn't there be a guard, or a trap? Or an ambush?"

As luck would have it, no sooner had Eustace said 'ambush,' than the torch went out, the little moonlight trickling in the room revealed a tiny plume of smoke climbing through the air. What had seemed like a part of a shadow before took shape, and rose into view; Crows, eyes seeming to gleam, even though they were black as the night itself.

"Um…" Lucy said, stepping backwards, the vial still in her grasp, and this time, no one was going to take it away from her.

Eustace had backed up himself, and nearly halfway turned around said, "Shall we split up and run?"

"Let's." Jill muttered.

With that, the three took off in separate directions, down the corridors, will Crows at their heels, ready to sink their claws into flesh.

**A/N: Oh, no! I thought I had my math right, darn it. I wrote this chapter completely longhand, and I though I figured out how to get a chapter long enough longhand that it becomes five pages (this is my usual minimum for chapter length, personally) but, alas, I did something wrong…oh, well. Please review. **


	28. Hide and Seek Part Two

Although everything that happened that night was important and, in its own right, helped put Narnia into the position it is today, I cannot focus on everything that happened. Not only would I be unable to do such research, as there were too many people involved. For those who were in a certain part of all this, time moved in such a way that two people could both be telling what they believe to be the truth, have different stories, but have been standing next to each other throughout a majority of the time. Peter and Susan were an example of this.

Susan peered out the open window of the empty watchtower she and Peter had been occupying for the past forty minutes, and saw a shadow run up to the drawbridge wheel, not the right shape for a Crow or Wolf, or anything else but a man. "I think that's Caspian," she said, nudging Peter with her elbow.

"Are you ready?" Peter asked, taking an arrow out of Susan's quiver, and putting it into the yellow torchlight. "I think we've reached the climax."

"Don't worry," Susan said, hanging closer to him than she possibly should have, "I won't let them touch you."

With these words, Susan pulled back the string with the flaming arrow and sent it into the night. It tore through a tall flag, making it go up in flame, and in a second the troops were in, whatever weapons they had brandished.

Perhaps Shift's army had been around the entire time, because Wolves, Crows, and even, surprisingly, certain traitorous men, satyrs, dwarfs and even a few centaurs came filing in through the shadows, and a battle ensued.

Susan and Peter found themselves in the middle of the fight, in all but a moment, covering each other, fighting with all they had in them; after all, this was their last shot. There's no telling how much blood got spilled, but it seemed that the longer the battle went on, the more crowded the courtyard became, and the more intense the battle became. As it happened, the Telmarines had been plotting to pillage Cair Paravel around this time as well, and in noticing the drawbridge open, seized this opportunity. Therefore, there soon became three different armies, fighting on the same turf, for very different reasons. The blood was dark and heavy.

Even though there were more opponents, we Narnians also received more warriors, all knights for that time, in their own right. Both Eustace and Jill wound up in the battle, fighting in the ways that they could. Many thin, sickly-looking warriors with nothing on their heads but skin joined as well. In light of some of the other prisoners escaping, many of the others came together and got away themselves. Knowing who had gotten the others out in the first place, many had gone to offer their assistance. Thank Aslan they did, I do not think we could have made it out alive without them. They might have looked frail, but they fought like anything but. Many of these people later became knights of Narnia, for they fought with the valor, skill, and chivalry of the most respected knights. I owe my brother's life to many of them.

Unbeknownst to him, Caspian ended up clashing swords with his uncle, as fate would have it, in a way, working on a fight his father never brought up. Swords clashed, faster than lighting, repeatedly. Caspian incorporated as many tricks as he knew, figuring the size and speed of his opponent, which was both larger and slower than he was. He found himself on the ground, and in a moment when the entirety of his life flashed before his eyes, another Telmarine soldier slashed through his opponent. Caspian had no time to register the oddity of this, however, for he was immediately fighting someone else.

Susan found herself face-to-face against another Lone Island Archer, a turncoat. She vaguely remembered his face, although she could not place a name. She recalled that he was overly competitive, cocky, and without any real natural ability. He would try, even then, to show off, and mess it up. She knew her archers well enough to know that. He shot a thin arrow, and it flew, faster than the speed of sound, pinning her arm to the wall. She waited only a moment before saying, loud enough for him to hear, "You missed," digging the blood-smeared arrow out of her arm, which was now covered in deep red, and threw it into her opponent, her student, really. Was she aiming to kill? To stun? I am not sure; I only know that Susan has not seem him since.

Peter was having a difficult time, constantly knocked down, and thrown around this way and that. He couldn't quite remember the details, and he remembered different things happening to the others as well. This is where the confusion comes in. When survival is the only thing on your mind, believe me, things will be blurred and confused; this serves for Susan and Caspian as well. I am not, really, all that concerned with sticking to the absolute canon, as what everyone remembers might not even be gospel.

XXXXXXXXX

Edmund dashed through the corridors, he had already checked nearly every single room whose main purpose was for house arrest, and now he had no clue where to go next. There had to be a way to narrow it down, he knew there had to be; but how to narrow it down, this is what caught him. In the back of his mind, still keeping up the hide-and-seek mentality he had previously entered, he could almost hear a snaky voice mutter _one one thousand, two one thousand, three one thousand…_and so on.

He was too caught up in trying to find Lucy, that he scarcely even noticed the battle going on down in the courtyard he used to run and play in, back when he was young. Speeding along, he only stopped in the shadow of a grand clock to think. Recognizing the clock, he realized that he was in the part of the castle where, if memory served him correctly, the royal bedchambers were located. In a few of these chambers, there were secret passageways that he had indulged in journeying through in his youth. Perhaps one would lead him to Lucy, it was worth a shot, and most likely safe; very few people knew about them—King Frank himself had been oblivious to the one in his own chambers for years.

Edmund pulled on a door, which he remembered led to his father's chambers. It was dark, but from the melancholy light a lone candle gave off, low and pathetic on the stub of wax it was only just holding on to, he could make out three things. These three things served to act in his nightmares for years. Wine spilled all over the floor, making it slippery and sticky simultaneously, as the consistency was more lethal than any wine I have ever known, a golden goblet with jewels encrusted beside it laid on top of the wine stain, mere inches away from it was the all too white hand of King Frank, all the life drained from it.

Meanwhile, Lucy continued running, Crows pecking at her, in mad pursuit, chasing her, just until they had her where they needed her, and that happened sooner than you would think. She was pecked at and swarmed until she reached what had to be a dead end, in front of her there were the Crows, and behind her was the throne room.

With no other choice, and the off chance that the Ape would not be inside the throne room, Lucy ran in and slammed the door behind her. Lady Luck was not being fair to her that day, for just in front of her, waiting for her once again, was the Ape.

Nothing but a brief, scarcely thought out plan, Lucy walked around in a circle, until she was facing the door she came in, closer to the thrones and large stain-glass window. "Stay away, I swear," she said, her voice a tremor.

"Or what?" the Ape sneered again, "There isn't a place in the world for you to go. But, listen to me, you foolish little girl, I have been more than fair to you, I could have had your head rolling off the block at your first show of disrespect, but now you will want to negotiate with me."

The room started spinning slightly, and Lucy felt as though she was going to be sick. She should not have moved so much with the concussion, her head throbbed and beat, and she could not get so much as a straight thought out.

Shift continued again, "Out there, on the very courtyard of Cair Paravel, a terrible battle is going on. A battle that could, quite probably, take Narnia down completely. Not only are my police fighting your pathetic group of refugees, but the Telmarine army is also against you. There is no way to win. But, if you would only hand me that vial, I will get my men to fight alongside you, and everything will be all right."

She did not believe him for a second. She had been stupidly naive for enough in her life, it was time for a change. "There's one problem in what you say," Lucy said coolly, walking around, closer to the giant stain glass window. "You're a liar."

With these words, Lucy threw the vial in her hand with all her might, it soared through the window, breaking the a hole through colorful glass, sending it and the contents that had nearly caused a civil war down into the bottom of the Eastern Sea.

"You will regret that!" The Ape thundered, and in a moment, he had Lucy's arm in his grasp, twisting it backwards until you could hear a very distinctive crack, and a girl's cry of pain.

She came tumbling to the ground, landing once again on her broken arm; she stifled her cries, just as the Ape grabbed her neck. Shutting her eyes, Lucy braced herself for nothingness.

Instead of nothingness, she felt herself get thrown on the floor, dazed from pain, she could only make out a boy with a sword come storming into the room, charging straight for the Ape. She could not make out everything, but she noticed that the upper hand continued switching throughout the fight, for a while the boy, slashing through everything like there was no tomorrow, and perhaps there was not. Then the Ape would throw the boy to the other end of the room, and attack, punching and hitting.

Lucy only just began to register everything in color when she realized who the boy was. Edmund. He was bruised, battered, and had a split lip, added to the scar he already had. Now, he was just about to get a bloodied nose to add to his injuries, when Lucy cried out his name, and he seemed to gain the upper hand that he only had at the beginning of the fight.

In a flash, Edmund had the Ape against the broken window, the flat of his sword just at the furry neck, ready to twist and cut him, and the hole in the glass where Lucy had thrown the vial, creating a gash in the Ape's shoulder.

Here, the Ape cried out, "Oh, do leave me alone! What have I ever done to deserve this?"

Edmund exhaled, furious and incredulous simultaneously, "Do you want the list chronologically or alphabetically?"

"All I was trying to do was change Narnia for the greater good!" Shift's plea rang.

"Keep telling yourself that," Edmund's voice was colder than it ever was before, or ever will be again. He pressed his sword a little higher, just enough to make the Ape lean more into the glass, which was already beginning to break.

"I can give you anything you ask for!" The Ape gave his final appeal, "Just leave me alone!"

"You can, can you?" Edmund's voice was not unlike when he had drunk the juice of the fire-flower himself. "Anything I ask for?"

"Anything you want!" Shift nodded, hoping that he had just won his case.

Edmund pressed his sword even harder, still not lethally, but close, and he growled, "I want my father back, you son of a bitch."

From the sword's closeness, the Ape leaned back again, and with this, the glass shattered completely, sending Shift into the depths of the sea, going towards the juice he so longed to have in the first place.

It took a moment for everything to register. However, quicker than that, Edmund was on his knees, crying for his father. He never got to see his father alive after he ran away, never got the chance to set things right, and now, there seemed to be nothing left but a foggy road, not bumpy, not smooth, just a blank canvas, nothingness was all Edmund could see. If it isn't obvious, the last thing he was, was in his right mind.

Lucy stood slowly, attempting to try and console Edmund as best she could; it hurt her so to see him like that. She opened her mouth to call his name, but a rich, deep, golden voice spoke before she could.

"Dear one, you must leave him alone now." Aslan stood before her, golden, brilliant, and far greater than even the best legend. Lucy could not feel any pain at all in front of him. He turned to leave, and Lucy knew that she ought to follow him, and did so without another thought.

Aslan led her to a room without furniture, just an empty room that seemed to be dark, and yet, Lucy could see just fine inside of it. "Bind your arm," he said, as soon as she had come to a halt before him.

Using her vest as a makeshift sling, Lucy said, "Aslan? Will Edmund be all right?"

"That is for him to decide," Aslan's voice said, in a tone that indicated that Edmund was not to be the topic for the moment. "Take these, Lucy."

Lucy looked, and on a table she had not noticed before, there was a small bouquet of the most brilliant flowers she had ever seen. Their color was deeper and brighter than the most beautiful amaranth, shaped somewhat like a sharp tulip, it looked as though the graceful petals were made of fire, not on fire, but still, soft flames themselves. "What are they?" She asked, taking the bouquet into her hand.

"They are fire-flowers." The great Lion said, and then, breathed on Lucy's head; (she felt no more pain from her concussion at all, and scarcely got headaches afterward) and then, he was gone from her sight, but not from Cair Paravel, for in a moment, she heard the most terrible, incredible roar over the courtyard, stopping all the other sounds of battle.

She turned back to her bouquet. What could Aslan have possibly wanted her to do with fire-flowers? The answer came to Lucy swifter than anyone would think. It was up to her to extract the nectar from these flowers, and create the pure juice, the one whose sole purpose was to cure illness or injury, forget power completely. As soon as she could, she would set to work on this, it quickly became one of the most important things on her mind.

XXXXXXXXX

To say things went by quickly and busily would be an understatement. After discovering the death of King Frank, Peter and Edmund barely had time to mourn their father, as they were immediately put on the throne themselves. People were set to identify all of the bodies left dead on the courtyard, and bounty hunters were sent after the enemies of Narnia who had run away.

The camps ceased immediately, and all the prisoners who were willing to accept it, were to report to Cair Paravel for help from their High King in getting home and land back. The segregation in the cities became illegal, and all the Beasts banned from court were invited back for an official feast. Peter sent a ship to send the Lone Island Archers back, and all military plans ceased. Carriages were sent out to take all back to their homes, providing they had them. This was all done in the first three days.

Lucy was standing in the corner of a courtyard, fire-flowers tucked underneath her good arm, watching in mourning at all of the bodies being put away. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Gwendolen come up to her, and immediately hold onto her good hand tightly, careful not to damage the flowers. Gwendolen had not fought, but was taken to Cair Paravel in more urgency than some others, in light of her friendship with Lucy. "Are you ready to go?"

The two girls had a carriage prepared to take them both back to Beruna together. Peter had asked Lucy what she wanted to do, and she had said that she wanted to see her mother again. Peter had nodded, and said, "All right, I'll make arrangements. If you want to, however, you're welcome here any time." And, in the five minutes after that, Lucy was no longer simply Lucy of Beruna, she was a duchess, free to leave Cair Paravel, but with a place in court if she should want it.

"I suppose," Lucy said, snapping back to the moment, somewhat reluctantly, about to follow Gwendolen into the carriage.

"Wait a minute!" A thick Telmarine accent said, coming up behind Lucy. In a second, Caspian had Lucy in an embrace, careful of her arm. "You're leaving, as well?"

Lucy cocked an eyebrow, "Where are you going?"

"Back to Telmar." Caspian looked down, "I'm next in line for the throne, since my uncle died here. I'm not ready for this, Lucy. I can't be a king."

"Yes, you can." Lucy said, smiling at him. "You'll do a great job. I have faith in you."

Looking down, Caspian said in a way that indicated he already knew the answer, "Will you come with me? You are the greatest friend I've ever had. We could make it work."

Lucy shook her head, "No. I belong in Narnia, and besides, it wouldn't be fair."

Caspian nodded, and pulled her into another embrace, "Good-bye, then."

"Good-bye, Caspian," Lucy said, urging herself not to cry, for knowing that this could be the last time she would ever see her friend, but found her eyes getting teary, and she kissed his cheeks. As he left, she looked amongst the growing crowd for someone in particular.

She almost have given up, had one foot inside the carriage when she saw him, standing in the middle of the crowd, turning to leave. "Edmund!" she cried.

Edmund turned slowly, as if it were the last thing he wanted to do. Lucy ran towards him, he still looked fairly injured, but better than he had been before. "I thought I was late, and you already left," he said.

"Well, I'm glad I found you," Lucy nodded, her heart buzzing, "How are you feeling?"

"I've been better," came Edmund's reply. "You're going back to Beruna, then?"

Lucy nodded, no words coming up her throat, and Edmund continued for lack of space. "Well, you know, if you ever fancy coming back to Cair Paravel…"

"You want me to stay?" Lucy asked, never before realizing how much she wanted to hear that from Edmund. If he said it, well, she would have arranged for her mother to come to her for a visit, she would have done anything to stay, but only if he wanted her.

Edmund's answer came like a bucket of ice water. "_Hell _no. I mean, things are going to be a mess around here for the next few years…you've probably had enough politics for one lifetime…and enough of me and my moods."

"Don't be so sure," was all Lucy could say, as she turned around, and stepped fully into the carriage.

There was a role reversal as the carriage moved forward, and Lucy found herself sobbing onto Gwendolen's shoulder for most of the ride back to Beruna.

**A/N: Forgive me for the Inigo Montoya line. I just had to do it…really; I had to. And, if you can't tell, the last chapter should be the next one. Also, I have a feeling that some of you are thinking, "What the hell was this ending?" Well, honestly, I sped up things at the end of this chapter...mostly because I want to be done with this story...**


	29. Dénouement

**A/N: In case you don't know, but I think I somewhat define it in the chapter, dénouement means "the outcome or resolution of a doubtful series of occurrences." **

Nearly a month had gone by, and things were nearly back to the order nature had put them in, in the first place. Beasts were back in court, thriving and living at a scale perhaps grander than before. All of the former-prisoners who had asked for the help were given homes along with farms if they so chose to have them. Everything had fallen into place, a few Narnians had initially questioned having their previous king's sons on the throne, due to all they had experienced, but a speech from Peter, and looking at all they had done thus far, swayed most of their minds, and very few people were left unsettled. Sadly, no matter what either Peter or Edmund wanted to say in fondness of their father, nothing that would work in favor to him could be said. Former king Frank was infamous throughout the country, some of it leaking even into Archenland and Ettinsmoor, and everyone was convinced of what a wicked man he was. Not only could neither Peter nor Edmund sway anyone's opinion, but when they spoke fondly of their father, there was a likelihood that someone would hear, get the wrong impression, and start an uprising. Thus, every bit of remembrance or mourning to their father had to be done secretively and, very honestly, as little as possible.

After the coronation for Peter and Edmund, (they were in charge before that; the coronation was purely cosmetic, and gave another reason for celebration, which come Narnians needed more than others) the only thing left to do that cleaned up the war was sending the Lone Island Archers back. I will give you three guesses why Peter postponed this until he could not anymore.

It was a gray morning when that ship arrived, cold, rainy, and just unpleasant. The dark sky was such a contrast to the bright white sails of this ship. Peter spoke quietly with Susan under the canopy where he stood with his brother, if he were still only a prince, and not the high king, I have a feeling he would have grabbed her hand. Edmund heard very little of this conversation, but to sum it up, Peter asked her to stay on the mainland. He offered her a higher place in the court than just a ladyship, and more or less promised to marry her when they got every detail settled. Susan's response was curtseying low and kissing Peter's hand, a bit more lingeringly than most people would (but who am I to judge? I have had more fictional scandals about me sauntering around Narnia than Peter and Susan combined. Interesting how that worked out.) When the ship left the harbor, Susan was not on board, but a rather long letter to her father was, explaining where she had been, and her choice to stay on the mainland. When all returned to Cair Paravel, Susan and Peter went into his study to have some privacy.

Edmund wanted to be happier for his brother, whose beautiful ending—his dénouement, was coming around rather smoothly, but he found himself feeling a jealousy had hadn't felt since Aslan had first spoken to him. He could not forget what happened that night, not one bit, but found that a similar jealousy was forming, all the same. Of course, Peter was high king, Peter was doing everything; Peter got his girl in the end; he could not help but wonder, what about Edmund? With a rather annoying headache, he retired to bed early.

His head only just hit his pillow when he found himself standing up again in his bedchamber; it was different, but had a familiarity all the same. It was not the same familiarity he always noticed walking into his bedchamber fully awake, but there was a dreamlike quality that made it familiar in the sense that he knew what room it was. If the curtains had been open, he had a feeling he knew what he would see.

These feelings were, more or less, confirmed when he saw a taller version of himself, about one and twenty come out from a darker corner of the room with a taper candle. Edmund gritted his teeth, remembering the last time he spoke with this persona, and hating it. What sort of torture would this other Edmund put on him that time?

Surprisingly enough, the older Edmund did not pay much heed to him, only winking a scarred eye towards his younger self, and proceeding towards the canopied bed.

Up until now, Edmund had not noticed the girl lying underneath the silky green covers, asleep. Now he recognized her. It was an older version of Lucy, perhaps nineteen or twenty, with an overall more grown-up face and hair pulled back, even in sleep, to two braided plaits. Her eyelashes fluttered when the other Edmund shook her shoulder, "Lucy," he said, "let me in."

The other Lucy woke up fully in a second, and moved over, allowing the other Edmund under the sheets beside her.

He (this is, the older Edmund) coiled his arms around her waist and put his mouth over hers. The real Edmund only blinked; he knew this was all in his head, but he could not shake feelings of apprehension, and the childish impulse to advert his eyes.

No sooner had he thought they were beginning to get a bit carried away, that the two stopped. The older Lucy grabbed the older Edmund's hand.

"Why don't you want me around?" she asked.

The older Edmund had his turn to blink. "What are you talking about?"

"You shoved me away," the older Lucy said, simply, and then returned slowly, and more penetratingly, "You _always_ do this, and I don't know why."

"Would you, please, just stop the riddles and tell me what you're getting on about?"

The older Lucy sighed, but continued. "You're absolutely fine one minute; loving, and even wonderful, and then the tiniest thing happens to make you off-kilter and you want me gone from your sight."

"I'm afraid of…" the other Edmund began, eyes flashing momentarily to where the real Edmund was standing, but then he turned back to the other Lucy, saying, "never mind," and trying to kiss her again.

She took his kiss for a second, but then pulled away. "What are you afraid of?"

"It's nothing," the other Edmund insisted, "look, if you really want to, go back to sleep."

"But I—"

"Just do it. Please?"

The other Lucy bit her lip, a cross between upset and concerned on her features, nevertheless she laid her head down on her pillow and fell asleep once again.

When she was asleep again, the other Edmund turned towards Edmund. "Oh, you could have done a better job with her than _that_."

"Sorry?" the real Edmund blinked, and then disregarded this comment, and said, his voice rather grim, "You're different."

The other Edmund nodded simply, "Of course we're different; we've changed. Although, not as much as we thought."

"What?" Edmund blinked again.

"You know perfectly well," the older Edmund said. "Do you really need to tell yourself what you already know?" he paused, "Very well. You still have such a pathetic grasp on who and what you are. You still have that outlook that you're as good as the dirt on Peter's boots. Well, _King_ Edmund, you need to snap out of it. People are going to start to need you. Someone already did, and you shook her away. The sad irony of that, is that we need her just as much, if not far more, than she needs us."

"It's not like I told her to go away!" Edmund protested. "She's the one who was leaving in the first place. But, I suppose I, more or less, told her that I don't want her to come back. What did I do that for?"

"You're afraid of two things. Losing another person whom you love, seeing our father, may he rest in peace, really messed with your head. It's been really messed up in here, I'm just saying. The other thing you're afraid of is being rejected for something better. You could, you know, she already had another offer."

"That was meant to be rhetorical." Edmund muttered, wondering if it was okay to argue with a figment of your imagination like this, "How do you know all of this when I don't?"

"You do," the other Edmund shrugged. "You realized all of this when you saw her with Caspian. You were already broken, but that just shattered you to pieces. So, what did you do? In fear of being walked out on, you ensured that you would be."

Edmund bit his lip so hard that he jolted awake, out of his mind, and into his head. He ran a hand up his face, wiping of a layer of sweat and a streak of blood from where he had bit himself.

XXXXXXXXXXX

Because she wasn't kept nearly as busy as those back east, Lucy was left with a month of confusion, contradictions, and emptiness. She was happy to be back with her mother, happy that Gwendolen was reunited with her father, and that both had a new house—far nicer than their old one, and were healthy and happy most of the time. Happy, even more so, when she pulled the true nectar from the fire-flowers Aslan had given her. She had found a flask which seemed to be made from something better than glass, perhaps diamond, right when she began, and she stored it in there. Yet, Lucy often found herself lonely, sad, finding little solace in her quilt at night.

Her mother noticed (for what decent mother could not?) that her daughter seemed rather depressed, and sat her down in the old rickety chairs to talk. "I know that we've been a bit busy learning about Gwendolen and her father, and helping them settle, but I've only just realized that I know nothing aside from what you've told me in your letters. When they stopped, I got a little worried. What happened, darling?"

Lucy inhaled, and said, "Everything. What do you want to know, Mum? It would be easier to answer your questions than to tell you everything."

Lucy's mother blinked. "All right. What happened to that friend of yours? I was hoping to meet him when I saw you again."

"Caspian," Lucy said, smiling a little, "I suppose he's back in Telmar by now," and thus she told her mother all about Prince Caspian, who was know King Caspian X of Telmar.

She wanted to go on and tell her mother everything, but it hurt her too much to even mention Edmund. He did not want her, which is all it came down to, in Lucy's mind. It seemed as though her father was right, even though she did not want to admit it. His loyalty did not match hers. Still, she would think, I suppose that he doesn't have time to be loyal to me, considering he has a country to help run. No matter how she tried going about thinking this, she could not without crying.

Thus, life went on. Lucy spent most of her time either with Gwendolen (who was still, sadly, getting grief by a few of the more uppity people in Beruna) or with her mother, helping straighten up the house, or just playing card games or chess when they were through with cleaning. She was able to find momentary happiness with the people she was around; she loved her mother dearly, and Gwendolen as well, but nothing could make her forget all she had gone through, and the new people in her life. Nothing could make her forget, or not want to be with Peter, Susan, Caspian, and I suppose Edmund goes without saying.

However, by the end of the month, things were routine. Lucy would wake up early, far before sunrise, get breakfast together for her mother and herself, tidy up the kitchen area with a broom and dustpan, and then she would run outside to watch the sun rise above the horizon. Once the sunrise ceased, she would come inside to find her mother awake with a cup of tea, she would sit and speak with her mother until the two decided to get dressed and finish the toiletries of the morning. After this, she would do whatever chore her mother had for her that day, sometimes hanging laundry, sometimes going to the store; it was a bit of an adjustment from living with the Kirkes, who only asked that she do her lessons, which she would do after her morning chore. Then, she would speed off in the other direction to spend time with Gwendolen, and more recently, some of the other children of Beruna who had become teenagers since she saw them last, and far more mature when it came to race.

Then she would come home to her mother, do whatever other chore her mother had for her, help out in making dinner, and then spend the evening quietly with her mother. When all was said and done for the day, poor Lucy would retire into her bed, the mattress sinking low in the strings it was kept up on the bedposts with, and stare out the window at the stars above, wondering what they were doing and thinking at that moment.

Her father came home at the end of the month as well, he did not say anything to Lucy about her being alone, and however, he did seem to have an air of 'I told you so' about him. This air only worsened when his wife told him about their daughter's queer mannerisms, under the presumption that he had it all figured out.

When Lucy was younger, she did not quite notice how different things became when her father graced their little cottage with his presence. Cleaning suddenly became more of a priority than it already was; a single dirty dish left in the sink seemed to become the eighth deadly sin. Things were far quieter, to add to this, as the evenings would go off with Lucy pondering over the newest algebraic equation her mother had given her in lessons that day, her father quietly enjoying the fire, and her mother sewing what looked like it was going to become a new red cloak; one with fur trim.

About midway through the second month, Lucy found herself elbow deep in soapy dishwater, and here is where the story picks itself up again. Plates and silverware clinked and collided in the sink as she scrubbed them clean, whilst talking enthusiastically with Gwendolen (the Telmarine-Narnian was, at this point, still unhealthily skinny, but no longer mere skin and bones, with a bit of fuzz developing on top of her head, soon to grow out into hair once again) who was drying the dishes. The girls giggled and splashed some of the sudsy water on each other before the woodsman (who was, surprisingly, still in Beruna at this point) snapped at them to knock it off.

There was a somewhat apprehensive-sounding knocking at the door, and Lucy's mother stood from her sewing and went to answer it. The voice that came with the door opening made Lucy stiffen and freeze, made Gwendolen spin around on her heels entirely, and made the woodsman lurch upwards from his seat; a complete scowl etched on his gruff features.

"Erm…hullo. Is Lucy in?"

Lucy's mother blinked and stammered. "Pr—Prince Edmund?"

"It's King Edmund, actually…but only recently, I can see where the confusion is." A moment passed, "May I come in?"

"Of-of course." Lucy's mother said, stepping away to let Edmund in.

Lucy heard the floorboards creak underneath Edmund's feet, and she continued to stand dumbly, this is until she got a dishcloth thrown at her head; Gwendolen's quick way to get Lucy to come back to her senses, and to get her to dry her arms.

"You weren't at the coronation," Edmund said, to start off, rather awkwardly, trying to get the conversation going.

"I didn't know I was invited," Lucy brought herself to speak, even though her throat was dry.

"I didn't know you thought you needed an invitation. Could you, erm, turn around?" Edmund asked, from only a few feet behind her, "You know, so I'm talking to your face, and not the back of your head?"

Turning around slowly, Lucy found herself hugging her stomach, although it did not hurt, it was the only thing that came to mind to do. "I don't know what to say. What're you doing here?"

"Well," Edmund said, looking up at the ceiling. Honestly, he had worked all of this out in his head, perfected this whole scenario so that it would become the sort of thing that storybooks were made of, but he couldn't, for the life of him, remember what he planned out saying. "I wanted to say…tell you that I'm…an idiot. But we… everybody…loves you, and we want…I want…you. Wait! There are four thrones…you're a heroine of Narnia…and…queen…ness. Would you?" He flinched at his own fumbled up sentences; it was not going well.

"Huh?" all three female parties in the room said, and the woodsman's never-ending glare continued on, clearly not amused.

Inhaling, Edmund desperately wished that they could go into another room for privacy, but chances were that ears pressed to the wood on the door would prevent any sort of privacy from actually happening. "Okay, let me start over."

"That might be a good idea," Lucy said, smiling a little; she hadn't the slightest clue why he was there, but being around him, back to his normal self, gave her that sort of happiness she had been missing for two months. "You're doing better, aren't you?"

Nodding, Edmund mused, "Yes, thanks. Well, Lucy, erm, how do I say this? By the Lion," he flinched inwardly, cursing how difficult this was. "All right, look, when you first left Cair Paravel, I was terrible; and I'm so sorry. But, I think I have most of it figured out. I didn't want to continue being hurt—I already was; I didn't want to be vulnerable."

"But I wouldn't hurt you," Lucy stepped forward, now comfortable enough to put a hand on his arm, "You have to know that."

"Of course," Edmund said, "but I wasn't quite myself. I know it isn't a very good excuse, but I'm trying to be better, and all I can do is try."

"I didn't know I was asking for anything else." Lucy said quietly.

"You weren't." Edmund paused, and pressed onward before he could convince himself to omit this major detail; "I've taken you for granted for way too long. I don't really expect you to forgive me."

"You should know me better than that," was Lucy's only reply.

Edmund smiled, and then focused in on the other reason he was there. "Look, I have to tell you, I would have come much sooner, but there was something I had to solve. And, it's about you."

"About her?" the woodsman said, clearly agitated, even more so that it fell upon deaf ears.

"What do you mean?" Lucy said, nearly ticking her head to the side.

"There are stories circulating around Cair Paravel and the rest of the east about you. Some are more inaccurate than others, but every one of them has the heroine correct. And it's you."

Lucy blinked. "Me?

"Of course. If it weren't for you, the juice would still be out and a danger to everyone in Narnia. Because of this, well, everyone at court wants to meet you through court. And, well," he spoke so quickly after this it all ran together was one word, but for literacy's sake, I'll separate the words, "we want you to be a queen."

"What are you asking, exactly?" Lucy found her jaw open.

Edmund bit his lip. "I'm asking you if you want to be a queen. No strings attached; you don't have to marry anyone or anything, if you don't want to. We do have four thrones at Cair Paravel, and Peter and I both agree that you're probably the best choice for a queen."

Gwendolen, who was enjoying this quite a bit more than she should have, said, more excited than anything, "Can you just up and do that?"

Shrugging, Edmund said, "Peter and I get to make up the rules, and there's nothing against it. I'm sure we can."

"And us?" Lucy asked, holding her breath.

Taking Lucy's hand, Edmund said, "Well, we'll see a lot of each other at Cair Paravel, maybe we can get back to where we were?"

"I'd like that," Lucy said, eyes shimmering, their heads started to move more together, when Lucy gasped, and ran into her bedroom, saying, "Wait!"

In a moment of silence made loud from the woodsman's glower, Lucy's mother said, "I have the feeling that I've missed a lot."

Lucy came in running with a shining cordial filled with a shimmering red liquid. "This," she said, putting the cordial into his hands, "is the real juice of the fire-flower; no enhancements, just pure. Aslan gave me the fire-flowers. It won't alter or change anything but illness or injury. I want you to keep it. I think I owe you; considering I stole the altered version from you."

"You didn't steal anything from me," Edmund was somewhat shocked, and furrowed his eyebrows.

Lucy smiled, a broad, wide, beautiful grin, "Well, can I?"

She then leaned forward and stole a kiss off his lips.

XXXXXX

I cannot believe it has been forty-three years since I finished writing this, forty-six since this all happened, and thirty-nine since I last read it. To be perfectly honest, I never was too fond of reading this story; there are too many painful parts, and I preferred to read the stories from later on in our lives, regarding new laws in our reign, and even the ones regarding the scandals that had spread like wildfire in my prime. Yet, I am glad I read this again.

The fact that I read it again, I owe to my daughter. I remember, I was sitting in my chambers, a cup of hot tea on my knee, looking at Lucy's old chair, when I heard a voice from the doorway, "Father?"

I turned around to see Felicity; my daughter who I still cannot believe is almost passed her thirties, standing inside my room, with a book in her hand. Behind her, stood her husband, Rilian, and their two children; Rolfe, sixteen, and Freya, ten. "I just finished reading it," Felicity said to me. "It was wonderful. It's probably your best work. It's no wonder it was her favorite out of all your books." She swallowed, "I miss her, Father."

"Me too, Lissie." I said, comforting my daughter in all the ways I can still; it was so different when she was a child, when she would cry because of the thunder shaking her; it's so much more painful when you're hurting inwardly as much as she. However, remembering does not hurt as much as it does for some other things. I might not have Lucy anymore, but I had her for forty-six years, and I will have my memories and the impact she had on me forever. It's taken a long time to get in this mentality, but I've managed.

"You should explain what happened afterward," Felicity said, wiping her tears off, standing once again beside Rilian, "just in case someone reads this and not the rest of them."

I am taking my daughter's advice at this moment. Lucy was given a silver crown to match Edmund's, and spend a majority of her coronation with him; in his arms when it came to dancing and by his side when it came to visiting. After she was crowned Queen Lucy the Valiant, she soon became a favorite, to many, out of all the queens. Within a year Peter and Susan were married, and Susan pronounced the other queen, thus all of the thrones at Cair Paravel were filled for the first time ever. The year after that, Edmund proposed marriage to Lucy, and she accepted, much to his excitement. Things were peaceful in Narnia; only short disputes between foreign powers such as Ettinsmoor and Calormen, barely resulting in a single sword out of its sheath, came out of this time.

Unfortunately, because Narnia was at such peace, some people needed to lie to keep things exciting. These lies included starting crass rumors of affairs on both Lucy and Edmund's part, both of which were untrue, although they did put a bit of a strain on things, considering one of the courtiers spreading these rumors (one of which was a rather crude and fictional affair between herself and King Edmund) was one of Lucy's ladies-in-waiting. Even when Lucy was pregnant, there were rumors as to who the father was. It was a rather annoying experience, considering the very last issue the two had was fidelity. They both trusted each other.

Gwendolen also joined the court, and became one of Lucy's main two ladies-in-waiting, the other of which was a girl named Lady Marjorie Preston; all three became the closest friends for a rather long time. Lucy's mother and the woodsman (who originally wanted very little to do with his daughter's marriage) moved into court in their older years, when the woodsman suffered an injury whilst cutting down a tree. He was still extremely disagreeable, but he had nothing to argue with Edmund about, other than the rumors, and so the two mostly stayed out of each other's way.

Tumnus became the head advisor to High King Peter, the Professor and Aunt Polly became strong friends of the court, while not living at Cair Paravel, were present for many events and important meetings. Oreius was taken back from Calormen with a high position in the army. Eustace and Jill became a lord and lady of the court, and eventually married each other. Felicity grew up; I remember how quickly that went away, and married King Caspian X's son, Rilian; resulting in the princess of Narnia becoming the future queen of Telmar. Do not fret, however, when Peter, Susan, and I finally pass, my nephew and his wife will become the new king and queen of Narnia.

Much of this has been a great part of my life, although not the main part of it. Lucy always told me that I led a double life; in one, I was King Edmund the Just, Duke of Lantern Waste, Count of the Western March, Knight of the Noble Order of the Table, and in the other, I was father to Felicity, husband and lover to Lucy, and closet author.

I remember one occasion, (Lucy and I were still married less than a year, so I had just turned eighteen and Lucy was sixteen.) I had stayed up well-passed midnight to write one of my many anonymously written stories, thinking that Lucy had long been asleep; I tried to quiet my footsteps as I climbed into our bed, only to find that she was awake, and waiting for me.

"Thank goodness," she said, halfway jokingly, running her bare feet over the back of my calves, "I thought I was going to have to ask for my husband back."

"Sorry," I said, letting her lean in on my chest, putting my arms on her waist. "I just got into it."

Lucy sighed rather cheerfully, "I am happy that you've found something you like to do. If only it didn't take up all of your time. I still get these times, though. And I love them," she then settled more into my chest. "Just laying next to you at one in the morning."

"You actually gave me the idea to write in the first place," I whispered into her hair.

"Did I?" she almost sat up, but the position we had gotten into prevented her from doing so.

I nodded, "You're the one who said that anything that happens is worth telling because someone will want to hear about it."

Biting her lip, Lucy muttered, "Do you really believe that exactly?"

"Perhaps not _everything," _I cocked my eyebrow, guessing what she was getting at, and leaned inward, and more over her, breathing out, "I think we're falling into the dénouement."

Perhaps because of my choice of words, Lucy laughed that laugh that could make me feel pure joy, even if I was previously depressed. We moved in closer, the strings on our clothes loosened, and here is where my narration ends.

**_The End_**

**A/N: Okay! So, this is your last shot to review! I'd really appreciate it if you would, tell me what you thought of the whole story, what I could do better in the future, etc. **

**Also! I am taking a bit of a hiatus off writing. I'll still read/review stories, but I won't be writing for a while. I don't want to start any new projects until exams (and the eighth grade) are done and over with. **


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